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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286934">the nights were cool and blue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashlearose13/pseuds/ashlearose13'>ashlearose13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and i know that this life isn't safe (but it's wild and it's free) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Clint Barton &amp; Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memory Alteration, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Red Room (Marvel), Soulmates, Unintentional Self Harm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:33:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286934</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashlearose13/pseuds/ashlearose13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Officially, S.H.I.E.L.D made Strike Team Delta. Unofficially, Natasha and Clint made each other. </p><p>The sequel to "the days were bright red." Completely AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and i know that this life isn't safe (but it's wild and it's free) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551043</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey guys!! happy christmas/happy holidays 😇 i'm back earlier than anticipated bc i got bored basically but: here we are!! FINALLY time for the sequel. this first chapter is just quick and easy but expect more, like always. i hope everyone enjoys this fic as much as they did tdwbr, and THANK YOU to everyone who supported me 🥰  </p><p>tags and characters will be updated as the fic progresses!! and warnings will be posted at the start of each chapter if they have any 💕</p><p>here we go. it's time to welcome back our babes ✨</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>i know history. there are many names in history<br/>
but none of them are ours.</p><p>— "Little Beast," Richard Siken</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Washington D.C, 2008</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>February</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The little room became a second home without Clint even realising it.</p><p>It wasn’t an office anymore. The sofas had acted as beds more times than he cared to admit and they had added a few potted plants over the months since therapy started. Natasha even had a favourite cushion, a spotty pink one that she clutched to her chest whenever the memories became too much.</p><p>S.H.I.E.L.D had been their constant for long enough that Clint felt himself slowly becoming used to the array of halls and the tiny room he had been assigned on his own. Natasha had graduated from psych to Medical, though he wasn’t sure there was much difference between the two. Still, he appreciated the change of scenery. It was better than the Big Top, and it was infinitely better than Iowa.</p><p>They had been apprehensive at first. S.H.I.E.L.D had felt like just another place; a place to be hurt, if they weren’t careful, and he had quickly grown tired of watching his back. Coulson had taught him kindness, though, in a way that Clint had never seen it before. There was pizza on Fridays and sleepovers with Natasha if he asked, and it was good. Clint hadn’t had just <em>good </em>for a long time.</p><p>“Complex PTSD. That’s the official diagnosis.”</p><p>Clint blinked himself out of his daydream. “Huh?”</p><p>“It’s like PTSD, but more… complex,” Georgia repeated. “We see this often in people who were abused by someone who was supposed to be their caregiver. Natasha’s trauma was significant and long-term. Do you want me to go into more detail?”</p><p>Natasha sat beside him, back ramrod straight and gaze glassy as she stared over Georgia’s shoulder and out of the window. They had known that they were walking into her first real diagnosis but the news still shocked him. He kept his hand palm up in the space between their bodies, just in case.</p><p>“Natasha?” Georgia asked softly. “Did you hear me?”</p><p>“<em>Da</em>,” Natasha said softly, eyes sliding back to focus on Georgia’s face. “I hear you. I do not… understand.”</p><p>Georgia leant forward slightly so that she could capture Natasha’s full attention. “You have complex post-traumatic stress disorder, okay? It doesn’t make you any less of a person. It doesn’t make you any less of an agent. This is something we work through as a team.”</p><p>Natasha nodded. “Okay. Is not my fault.”</p><p>“Not your fault,” Georgia confirmed, and Natasha’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “We’ve made so much progress since you first came into this room, and this is just <em>more </em>progress. There’s nothing we can’t do, right?”</p><p>“Yea,” Clint said, smiling at her. “We’re a team, Nat.”</p><p>“I know,” she said. She found his hand and squeezed tightly, and he could tell how nervous she was just from that action alone. “Is just… new. I don’t have problem before.”</p><p>“I know it might feel that way, but you’ve been braving this on your own for quite a long time,” Georgia said sadly. “Not many people have that kind of strength.”</p><p>Clint knew that Natasha didn’t believe she had been strong at all. She had spent so much of her life repressing her feelings that starting therapy had taught her what some of them were for the first time, and there had been many times that he had been called in the middle of the night, the only person able to console her and get her out of her head.</p><p>Georgia was great, and Clint attributed her to all of the progress they had made over the last three months. Between her and Dom Natasha had begun to heal; Clint too found himself benefiting from the sporadic moments he had with both women, even if they were hardly aware of what they were teaching him too.</p><p>“Clint is my strong,” Natasha said immediately. “I have him and is good. When he is gone it… Everything seem worse.”</p><p>“That’s okay,” Georgia said. “Thank you for letting me know. Just between the three of us, I’m trying as hard as I can to get you into something that feels a little more homely than Medical.”</p><p>“Anything would feel better than Medical,” Clint joked. “It’s like, Night of the Living Dead down there.”</p><p>Natasha frowned. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Creepy movie,” Clint said. “You know Barney made me watch it one time? Freaked me out for weeks.”</p><p>“What was the last movie you watched Natasha?” Georgia asked.</p><p>Natasha considered her for a moment, then shrugged, gaze returning to the window. Her head was flickering between two moments, he could tell; the present, with them in the therapy room, and something else entirely that might not be as nice as Georgia’s fluffy pillows.</p><p>As if she could read his mind, she moved herself back into Natasha’s line of sight. “Okay, Agent. Choice is yours. We can try and work on that tricky memory again or I can give you a rundown on C-PTSD. What will it be?”</p><p>“Maybe not memory,” Natasha said slowly. “I am tired.”</p><p>“Easily done.” Georgia stood and went back to her desk, which she still pushed against the wall after all this time. She rummaged around in her drawers and clicked a few things on the computer screen, and then turned her back on them while she waited for the printer. Clint recognised her giving them a brief moment of privacy and turned to Natasha expectantly.</p><p><em>You okay? </em>He signed.</p><p><em>I’m not sure</em>, she replied. <em>My head is foggy today. Do you think it will be all bad news?</em></p><p><em>The C-PTSD? No way.</em> Clint thought about leaning in to press his lips to her cheek but settled on bringing her knuckles up to his mouth instead, letting go only so he could continue to sign. <em>I love you no matter what. Besides, now we know what it is, we might be able to help.</em></p><p>Natasha nodded. <em>I don’t want to live like this all the time. Like I’m afraid or too angry. I just thought it would be over by now.</em></p><p><em>Therapy doesn’t help things in a day</em>, Clint reminded her. <em>It takes a while and a lot of growing. Good thing you’re stuck with me.</em></p><p><em>Whatever</em>, she said, and elbowed him for good measure.</p><p>When Georgia spun back around with her information brochures there was a look on her face that told him she knew exactly what they had been doing. “Okay, kids. Let’s learn about C-PTSD.”</p>
<hr/><p>After therapy Natasha napped in Coulson’s office, still not feeling entirely like herself despite the talk they had had with Georgia about her diagnosis. Clint sat at his handler’s desk, rolling torn up pieces of mission report into balls and shooting them into the bin. So far he hadn’t missed once, and the balls were only getting smaller.</p><p>Coulson came in as he sunk two in a row. “Is this an invasion?”</p><p>“Nah,” Clint grinned. “Your couch is comfier than Medical, and Nat had a pretty hard session today.”</p><p>“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Coulson muttered. He shooed Clint out of his chair and sat carefully in it, rearranging the things on his desk that Clint had barely touched. “How did it go?”</p><p>“C-PTSD,” Clint recited. “Officially, anyway. Long term trauma will do that to you apparently.”</p><p>Coulson sighed. “And you?”</p><p>Clint attended therapy too, but he hadn’t been lucky enough to get someone like Georgia. His therapist <em>was</em> still nice, and he had helped Clint come to terms with his own anxiety, but Todd Becker simply wasn’t as fun as Georgia Love. Clint went to therapy so he didn’t get kicked out of S.H.I.E.L.D, but also in solidarity with Natasha.</p><p>“Same old,” he shrugged. “Anxiety. We knew that.”</p><p>“Yes,” Coulson replied. “But you know that S.H.I.E.L.D needs official documentation.”</p><p>“Being sent to your email or whatever.” Clint waved him off and leant back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Georgia says she might need to have a meeting with Fury, though.”</p><p>“Protocol,” Coulson replied easily, and Clint believed him. “Is she okay?”</p><p>Natasha had still been absent after therapy, so Clint had made the executive decision to hole up in Coulson’s office until their handler got back from whatever mission he was running. They had sat and talked for a while until not even that could hold Natasha’s attention, and then she had simply laid out across the couch and fallen asleep.</p><p>Therapy was hard. Clint went with her when she asked, and it took a toll even on him. He much preferred her physicals with Dom over the emotional baggage that Georgia was slowly extracting from beneath her skin, because at least running and sparring allowed her to take her anger out on <em>something</em>. It was important, though, and more than anything he wanted her to feel okay.</p><p>S.H.I.E.L.D was the right choice. It had been months, and Clint still wondered if they had jumped in too soon. Maybe they had, but it was too late now. He trusted Coulson. He even trusted Fury and Maria now, and Natasha was slowly warming up to them too. The other agents still shot them dirty looks behind their backs but none of it mattered in the grand scheme of things. They had each other, and Chase, and even their dumb Lucky dog. That made S.H.I.E.L.D enough for him.</p><p>“Getting better,” Clint said honestly. “We all wish it would just be over but we’re learning it doesn’t work that way.”</p><p>“Smart,” Coulson said. “You’ve made good progress, Clint.”</p><p>He shrugged. “We try. Better than the alternative, right?”</p><p>Coulson smiled. Clint stood up and moved across to Natasha, brushing a strand of fiery hair out of her face. She slept peacefully for now and Clint took advantage of it while he could, splaying out on the ground beside the couch like a starfish. His back cracked and he groaned, hearing Coulson laugh softly.</p><p>“Should I wake you when it’s dinner time?” Coulson asked.</p><p>“Nah,” Clint murmured. “I don’t want to sleep. I just want to… be.”</p><p>If Coulson replied he didn’t hear it, already switching his hearing aids off and letting the world descend into silence. Sometimes he needed the quiet after the heaviness of the day, and he was learning to embrace his deafness for perhaps the first time in his life. They <em>were </em>trying, and even if it only amounted to being comfortable enough to fall asleep on a couch and dialling down the volume on the world for a minute, at least it <em>was</em> something.</p><p>S.H.I.E.L.D was home. It was unconventional, filled with rooms that still felt too full or too empty, but it was theirs and they were together. Clint knew that that would always be enough, and they had time to build on it. For the first time in a long time, he felt ready for whatever came next.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello it's late this is just u know. filler stuff before we get to all the Big Things (and trust me there are some BIG things to cover in this fic) anyway enjoy!! </p><p>no real warnings, mentions of injuries but nothing graphic at all. i'm still getting back into the groove of writing these two and this chapter really helped to get their voices back in my head. i hope you love it!!</p><p>and lastly a massive thank you to everyone who commented on the first chapter!! i'm so glad you guys are as excited as i am to continue this story ❤️❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>S.H.I.E.L.D halls were complicated on the best of days, but having to navigate with an eyepatch and no hearing was testing Clint’s patience. He tried to keep one hand on the wall to save himself the embarrassment of needing to ask Maria for help, but enough agents had knocked his arm aside that he was beginning to consider swallowing his pride just for the sake of getting there without another bruise.</p><p>He caught Maria watching him out of the corner of her eye. He could tell that she didn’t quite know what to do herself, and on more than one occasion he had noticed her lips moving before she realised that he couldn’t actually hear her. She had drawn the short straw and was his babysitter until they had new hearing aids made.</p><p>Clint hadn’t meant to destroy his last pair. Fury had finally given him the okay to re-join another Strike Team and go on his first mission in months, and things had been smooth sailing for the most part. Until he had been caught in the middle of an explosion that had knocked out both his aids and himself; he had woken up in Medical on the Quinjet, his left eye covered to protect it while his scratched cornea healed. It hadn’t been his finest moment and he was sure the Strike Team would never let him live it down. He was more worried about how Natasha would react when she finally saw him.</p><p>Maria tugged on his arm to prevent him from turning the wrong way, then made a gesture towards her lips as though she wanted him to read them. “I’m sorry this is awkward.”</p><p>Clint shrugged. “Could be worse.”</p><p>He hated talking without the aids in. Coulson had assured him that it wouldn’t take long for the tech team to have new ones made, and he was a little excited to have updated ones after living with the old ones for so long. He just wished that it hadn’t happened in quite the way that it did.</p><p>“Romanoff will kill you,” Maria said. She held a door open for him and he stepped through carefully, feeling a little wobbly on his feet. “Book truck.”</p><p>“Huh?” Clint asked, sure that he had missed something. “What?”</p><p>“Good luck,” Maria emphasised. “If you need… doctors everywhere.”</p><p>Clint understood enough of her sentence to smile and wave her off. “I’ll be fine, Hill. Thank you.”</p><p>Hill still looked uncomfortable as she left him at the front desk of Medical. Coulson had told him in passing that she was upset that she didn’t know ASL, though Clint didn’t mind at all. He was grateful for the help that she <em>had </em>provided. It bet the alternative of being chaperoned by Fury himself.</p><p>He checked in with reception and let muscle memory lead him to Natasha’s room. Georgia hadn’t had any luck on finding Natasha a more permanent home, and not even the added pressure from Dom was helping her case. Even Fury had agreed to giving her a S.H.I.E.L.D issue room, but the Council weren’t budging and they weren’t willing to risk another incident when they were still on thin ice from bringing Natasha back.</p><p>For now, Medical was better than psych. Clint hated the smell, the feeling of always being watched. He knew that Natasha hated it for other reasons, reasons that included the after pain of needles in the crook of her elbow, the loss of autonomy that came with waking up in a bed with no idea how she had come to be there. It wasn’t like that at S.H.I.E.L.D, but the memory of it lingered even when she forgot.</p><p>She was sitting in the corner when the guard let him in, red-rimmed eyes lifting to meet his. He’d been pre-warned that therapy had been hard on her that morning, but it didn’t stop the aching feeling that spread through his gut at the look of hopelessness on her face.</p><p>Hopelessness that soon turned to concern when she noticed the patch over his eye and the array of bruises that spread like spider’s webs up his arms.</p><p><em>What did you do? </em>She signed furiously without moving from the corner.</p><p>Clint winced and stepped over to her, taking a seat on the ground beside her. <em>It looks worse than what it is</em>.</p><p>Natasha grabbed his chin and turned his head to face her, forehead crinkled in worry. He let her examine him carefully, eyes never leaving hers as she gently brushed her fingers over his cheek. He could feel the tension seeping out of her body and reached up to take her hand instead, kissing her knuckles with his split lip.</p><p>She shook her head softly. “You are trouble.”</p><p>He missed the sound of her voice. He didn’t mind the quiet and he often spent time with her without the hearing aids turned on. It was different, to not have a choice in the matter. He liked silence, but he liked her more, the huskiness to her voice and the accent that still sounded as strong as it did when they were nine and playing pirates in the backyard.</p><p>“I’m okay,” he whispered, then switched to signing. <em>It was an accident. Wrong place, wrong time.</em></p><p><em>What’s wrong with your eye? </em>She asked. He thought she might reach out and touch the patch that Fury had generously given him, but she just watched instead, as though she were too afraid that she would cause more damage. <em>And you don’t have your aids.</em></p><p><em>They’re so busted</em>, he told her. <em>Like, they have to make me new ones now. And the eye is just a scratch. It should be okay in less than a week.</em></p><p>
  <em>Is that all?</em>
</p><p>He shrugged and pulled up his shirt to show her the small laceration on his belly. <em>Got a little too close to a knife.</em></p><p>He didn’t mean it to be a joke, but it still coaxed a small smile from Natasha. Clint wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him, feeling her melt against his side. Her head came to rest over his heart and he stroked his hand over her back, happy to hold her.</p><p>He could have lost it all. The mission hadn’t been bad, and he wasn’t lying when he said that he would be fine in another week. Now that he was sitting with Natasha, though, he could see everything that would be left behind if it <em>had </em>been worse. It was the nature of the job, and he knew that too, but it didn’t make the decision to step off the Quinjet any easier.</p><p><em>They didn’t tell me</em>, Natasha said, signs small. <em>They didn’t tell me you had been hurt. What if they don’t tell me if…</em></p><p><em>They will</em>, he assured her. <em>You had therapy today, right? Maybe they didn’t want to cause any more distress.</em></p><p>She shrugged. <em>Sure feels like they want to cause me distress.</em></p><p><em>Still stuck on that memory? </em>Clint asked even if he already knew the answer. Natasha curled against him more tightly and he watched her hands clench into fists. He let her for the time being, remembering what Georgia had told him about letting Natasha become aware of her own actions. <em>Hey, it’s okay.</em></p><p><em>It’s stupid, </em>she said. <em>I don’t want to talk about it. </em></p><p><em>Okay</em>, he agreed. <em>What do you want to talk about?</em></p><p><em>How stupid you are</em>, Natasha said, and Clint laughed despite himself. <em>How do you scratch your eye?</em></p><p><em>Maybe that’s how Fury got the eyepatch, </em>Clint teased. <em>Maybe he scratched his cornea on an easy mission and it never healed. Oh god. I can't be like Fury.</em></p><p><em>You’re better looking</em>, she said, then twisted her head to press the lightest kiss possible to his cheek. <em>That might make it better.</em></p><p>They were hyper aware of cameras and guards that liked to eavesdrop, because no one except for Coulson knew the true extent of their relationship and they wanted to keep it that way. As far as the other agents were concerned, Clint was just the person who calmed Natasha down when no one else could, and so they could get away with hugging each other in the name of damage control. It wasn’t the same; he sometimes wished that they had never left the Brooklyn apartment and the life they had created there for themselves.</p><p><em>Better already, </em>he told her. <em>You know I’m really okay, right? I wouldn’t just leave.</em></p><p><em>I know</em>, she replied. <em>But you scared me, when you walked in looking like that. I want to come with you so I can save your ass.</em></p><p><em>I’ll be the one saving your ass, Romanoff, </em>he teased. <em>It won't be long. They have to let you soon.</em></p><p>The unspoken <em>maybe </em>hung in the air between them. There was no guarantee that Natasha would ever be cleared for duty, and whilst they both trusted Georgia that didn’t mean that she trusted in Natasha’s ability to cope in strenuous circumstances.</p><p>Therapy was ripping her apart and they all expected her to be stuffed right back in like nothing had ever happened. Georgia was considerate, and she understood that it wasn’t easy to relive a lifetime of trauma, but the Council wanted results so they could pat themselves on the back and call it a job well done. Natasha was more than the weapon they wanted to make her, and without Fury or Coulson or even Maria on their side, he would have lost her the moment she stepped foot in S.H.I.E.L.D.</p><p><em>Do you want me to read? </em>Natasha asked eventually. He nodded and let her go, watching her move uncertainly towards the single book they had allowed her for her stay. It wasn’t Harry Potter but he didn’t mind when he couldn’t hear the words anyway.</p><p>Natasha lay down flat on her back, and he lay with his head on her stomach, feeling the taut muscles jump beneath him. She held the book above her head and started to read, and he closed his good eye as the vibrations of her voice echoed in his chest. It wasn’t the same thing, but if he concentrated hard enough he could swear that he could hear her voice.</p><p>She ran the fingers of her right hand through his hair, only pulling away to turn a page, and Clint felt his weary body sinking into sleep before she had even finished a chapter.</p>
<hr/><p>Natasha glared at Fury. Fury glared right back at her.</p><p>Coulson sighed. “This isn’t because we don’t trust you, Natasha.”</p><p>“It feel like it,” she snapped. “It feel like no one trust me. I sleep in hospital bed. You know what it feels like?”</p><p>“There are worse places to sleep,” Fury commented. “Three months ago you didn’t have a penny to your name, and now you have an entire room.”</p><p>Clint scratched at his head absently, wondering if Fury was choosing to ignore the money they had bought with them to S.H.I.E.L.D or simply didn’t know about it. His hand wandered automatically towards the new aid and he fiddled with the volume for the umpteenth time. These aids were far more high-tech than anything else he had ever worn before, and it was taking him longer than expected for him to get used to them.</p><p>“I just want to do,” she said, and Clint could detect the frustration in her voice that he was sure would turn into a breakdown if she wasn’t steered away from it. “I want to do <em>something. </em>I sit and train and is for what? I go back to room and <em>he</em>—”</p><p>She trailed off, but the finger she had pointed at him finished the sentence for her. He offered her a weak smile and brought his hands above the table so he could ask her, <em>okay?</em></p><p>“We understand that this is frustrating,” Coulson interrupted. “We want what is best for you, Natasha. I know it may not feel like that, but you need to trust us.”</p><p>Fury snorted. “This is Coulson’s polite way of saying that we can't send a livewire into the field without knowing how it’s gonna react. There are too many variables.”</p><p>“I switch off,” Natasha told them. “I do before. I can do again.”</p><p>“And then you lose time, Tasha,” Clint reminded her gently. “Or it triggers you into thinking like someone else. It’s not worth it.”</p><p>“But I am tired,” she whispered. “Tired to just… To just sit and stare. I go to therapy and memory is s<em>tuck</em>. It hurts. I want to fight.”</p><p>Coulson looked genuinely upset. “I’m sorry, Natasha. We can’t sign off on anything until Agent Love gives us an all clear. You were only just diagnosed with C-PTSD. There’s no time limit on healing.”</p><p>Natasha clenched her fists by her sides, chin raised defiantly even when she trembled. Clint longed to hold her hand, at the very least, but he remained seated across from her and only hoped that she knew that he was still on her side.</p><p>“Most agents wouldn’t be given a second thought with that kind of prognosis,” Fury said. “We’ve already made too many exceptions.”</p><p>For a second it looked like Natasha might argue some more, and then she seemed to deflate. She pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded, and Coulson smiled tightly at the resignation they could all see on her face.</p><p>“If you keep making this kind of progress,” Coulson said, pointing at the manila folder that held Georgia’s latest report in it. “It won't be long at all before we can squeeze you into a Strike Team.”</p><p>“I know it’s not in your nature, but try to enjoy the downtime,” Fury said. “You’re both dismissed, agents.”</p><p>Clint stood and followed Natasha out of the office, keeping his head down as they passed a group of agents that were only trying to cause drama. Natasha didn’t even seem to notice them, marching down the hall before her guard could even try to catch up. She yanked Clint’s arm and he tumbled after her into a supply closet, squinting to make out her face in the dark.</p><p>“He is gone,” she whispered, lips inches from his. “I am sick of being treated like baby.”</p><p>“They mean well,” he tried weakly, and caught the end of her eye roll. “I want things to go back to normal too, but I understand where they’re coming from.”</p><p>“Whatever,” she said. Her hand gripped his wrist and he suddenly got the feeling that whatever she was about to say would get them into trouble. “I have idea.”</p><p>“Okay,” he said. Excitement bloomed in his chest and he leant in to kiss her, the first real kiss they had had since her birthday at Coulson’s apartment. He kissed her like it would be the last time, knowing that it probably would be for a while. “I love you.”</p><p>She hummed against his lips. “I love you too, birdbrain.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clint repeated. “Now that we have that covered. What’s your idea?”</p><p>Even in the dim lighting, he could see her eyes sparkle for the first time in months. “We break out.”</p><p>It was crazy, but they had done it once before. The thought of being able to hear her laughter again was enough to get him to nod his head and ignore the logical part of his brain that told him it was a bad idea.</p><p>“We break out,” he agreed, and kissed her one more time for luck. “Lead the way, Agent Romanoff.”</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello everyone i'm back!! happy new year even though january is almost over idk. i hope you enjoy this chapter and thank u all for coming back to read the sequel to the days were bright red 🥰🥰 i'm so excited to take you through the next chapter of clint and natasha's life with shield!!</p><p>some lil warnings for a small anxiety attack, unintentional self-harm and general triggers (remember what coulson said: rome wasn't built in a day, and it will take some time for nat to work through her traumas)</p><p>on that note, thanks for reading and leave a comment if u like!! ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It wasn’t that serious.”</p><p>Coulson stared at him. “You broke out of a secure S.H.I.E.L.D building for macarons.”</p><p>“To be fair, Natasha has never had macarons before,” Clint replied. “Plus she’s been stuck in Medical and psych for months, Coulson. It’s driving her crazy.”</p><p>“It doesn’t make it better, Clint,” Coulson said. He pinched the bridge of his nose and for a brief moment Clint actually felt bad that they had caused so much drama. He hadn’t meant for it to be anything more than a fun challenge that they had thought they wouldn’t succeed in; the look on Natasha’s face as she saw the cars on the street had been enough to convince him to keep walking, though. “The Council—”</p><p>“Whatever,” Clint grumbled. “Look, I’m sorry, sir. Really.”</p><p>Coulson sighed and Clint got the impression that he was forgiven, even if he knew that their punishment wasn’t forgotten. Natasha had narrowly avoided going back to psych thanks to Fury and Maria wasn’t speaking to him, which he still wasn’t sure was necessarily a bad thing. They had made a mistake, though, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, they had to face up to it.</p><p>“I know that it’s hard,” Coulson said eventually. “I’m trying my best to make it easier. You need to help me out if you want it to get better.”</p><p>“Nat can’t be locked up,” Clint argued. “She needs control. She needs to have some freedom.”</p><p>“I understand that,” Coulson said. “I really do. You have to consider how this looks to the Council, though. They think that they caught a psychopathic, remorseless killer. Natasha is—”</p><p>“Not like that,” Clint finished softly. “Yea, I know. I know more than anyone.”</p><p>Coulson smiled tightly. “It won’t be forever.”</p><p>Clint sat heavily on the couch and scrubbed at his face tiredly. They had been dragged back by an undercover Strike Team and he hadn’t seen Natasha since. Four days had passed and all he knew was that she still had therapy and all of her other appointments, but her guard had been increased and she was back to the handcuffs that rubbed her wrists raw. Fury had fought that, too; the Council weren’t budging though, and it felt a little like they were trying to prove a point more than anything else.</p><p>“How much paperwork do I have to do?” Clint asked eventually.</p><p>Coulson reached into the drawer under his desk and pulled out a stack of papers, dropping them with a thud. Clint groaned and slouched down on the couch, folding his arms across his chest. It wasn’t Coulson’s fault, and he knew that, but the thought of being stuck in an office checking over old mission reports only made him want to escape all over again.</p><p>“You can start with this,” Coulson said. “If you finish before dinner there’ll be more.”</p><p>“Great,” Clint muttered sarcastically. He pulled himself off the couch and took the stack of papers, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as he left. “Thanks so much.”</p><p>“You made a choice,” Coulson called after him, but if he said anything else the door closing blocked it out.</p><p>Clint walked down the hall, avoiding the glares the other agents gave him as he passed. The Council weren’t the only ones who seemingly wanted Natasha locked up forever, and Clint was beginning to regret their decision to leave base, even if it had only been for a few short hours. He could deal with the agents if they left Natasha alone, but it was the disappointment that Coulson couldn’t quite hide that made guilt eat at his insides.</p><p>He found an empty conference room and dumped the paperwork on the table, took a seat behind it and resigned himself to a boring day.</p>
<hr/><p>Clint wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the door to the conference room opened. He didn’t glance up at the person who walked in, instead staring intently at the sentence in front of him that didn’t make any sense no matter how hard he looked. He highlighted the whole thing and scribbled a question mark down, hoping that Coulson would at least understand his problem.</p><p>“Lunch.”</p><p>Maria placed a tray of food on the table by his elbow, then pulled out a chair across from him and sat down. Clint offered her a thin smile and prodded experimentally at the soggy sandwich she had brought for him. The apple looked far more appealing, so he picked it up and took a bite before his stomach had a chance to rumble again.</p><p>“You here to give me a lecture too?” He asked around his mouthful. “Or are you still giving me the silent treatment?”</p><p>“You made a mistake,” Maria said. “You really fucked up.”</p><p>Clint laughed. “I know that, Hill. But you’d think we shot Fury instead of just went to get a cookie.”</p><p>“You need to understand that you and Natasha are not the same, at least in the eyes of the Council,” Maria explained. “Natasha will never leave that room again if you’re not careful.”</p><p>“I don’t like being threatened,” Clint bristled. “Whose side are you on?”</p><p>“Yours,” Maria said immediately. “I want to help. I don’t necessarily trust Natasha yet, but I trust Coulson. And I trust you too, I guess.”</p><p>“Thanks, Hill,” Clint said softly. He twirled the pen between his fingers and took another bite of the apple, chewing slowly. “It’s just hard.”</p><p>Clint felt the familiar pulse of heat beneath his skin, the tingling sensation that started in his legs and spread up his body. He let out a long breath and pushed the chair back so he could rest his forehead on the edge of the table, forcing himself to breathe deeply as his vision began to swim. It had been a long time since he had had an anxiety attack, and he was mortified that it was happening in front of Maria.</p><p>“You’re okay,” she said, sounding about as awkward as Clint felt. She reached out to lay her hand on Clint’s arm and something of a sob caught in the back of his throat. “You’re safe.”</p><p>“I know,” he stuttered, heart hammering in his chest. He gulped in a breath and tried to remember the happier moments from his childhood before he spiralled. He could picture Natasha and Laura, by the creek in the sun. “It’s fine.”</p><p>Maria left her hand on his arm but didn’t say anything else. Clint felt his heartrate slow, keeping his head on the table until he felt steady enough to move. The anxiety wasn’t new, but it <em>was </em>unexpected; ever since he had joined S.H.I.E.L.D he hadn’t felt quite as panicked as he had just then, and he had been on many missions over the last few months.</p><p>He was worried about Natasha, though, and he knew that he had been subconsciously stressed about her progress since he had dragged her back from Russia. Maria and Coulson’s words had been the tip of the iceberg, and he just hadn’t been able to hold it in this time. The regret of ever leaving was beginning to outweigh the brief burst of happiness that they had felt walking hand in hand down the street.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said when he felt he could face Maria. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and reached for the bottle of water she had brought with lunch, drinking half of it in one gulp. “I’m just…”</p><p>Maria squeezed his arm once before pulling away. “There’s a lot to get used to. Don’t apologise for the way you feel, Barton.”</p><p>“Okay,” he said gratefully. “Thank you.”</p><p>“No problem,” Maria replied easily. “Do you want some help?”</p><p>Clint blinked at her. “No one willingly volunteers to do paperwork.”</p><p>“Guess you’ll just owe me one,” she said, smiling.</p><p>He handed her a pen and smiled back at her, feeling the last of his trepidation disappear. “Sounds like a deal.”</p><p>They worked in silence for a while, and Clint found himself enjoying Maria’s quiet presence. He had never been one for company before S.H.I.E.L.D and had only enjoyed spending time with Natasha, but he was starting to realise that he might have more friends than he could have imagined. It was different here, and he was grateful to have people like Coulson and Maria on his side.</p><p>The sky outside slowly changed colour through the windows, painting the conference room in a cool shade of grey. Clint stretched his arms out behind him and looked over at where Maria sat with her head resting in the palm of her hand, eyes closed. He wasn’t sure if she was actually asleep but figured the least he could do would be to leave her alone when she had so graciously offered to help him.</p><p>He was just about to pick up his pen and finish the last section of his current report when an alarm started blaring over the speakers. Maria was on her feet in an instant, hand flying to her belt and the radio she kept there. She brought it up to her ear and listened to whatever was being relayed, wide eyes sliding to Clint without her realising it.</p><p>His stomach dropped. “What is it?”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Maria said, holding a hand out to slow him down as he stood, too. “There’s a little incident—”</p><p>“What?” Clint asked again. “They don’t set the alarms off for nothing, Hill.”</p><p>“It’s Natasha,” she began, but he didn’t give her time to finish. He threw the door open and started to run, not entirely sure where he was going. She was either in therapy or the gym with Dom, though he couldn’t imagine Georgia setting off any kind of alarm for something that she had done.</p><p>He changed direction, Maria a step behind him and still calling for him to stop. The alarm was loud and his head was already aching from the influx of noise but he kept going, dodging agents who were being ordered back to their rooms for lockdown. He had to get to the gym before anyone could stop him.</p><p>There was a group gathered outside, peering through the glass that made up one of the walls of the gymnasium. Clint pushed his way to the front, feeling Maria’s hand on his back as she followed him, and steeled himself for whatever he was about to see inside.</p><p>There were three agents on the ground, though Clint couldn’t see any visible wounds on them. Natasha had Dom pushed against the wall, pinning her by her neck with one arm. He could see Dom’s lips moving but couldn’t quite make out what she was trying to say, though it didn’t seem to matter to Natasha. There was gym equipment strewn around the room, as though she had thrown everything in sight before they had tried to stop her.</p><p>He turned to Maria. “I need to get in.”</p><p>“Agent Lane issued the distress signal,” Maria said tersely. “She put the gym into lockdown.”</p><p>“Override it,” he said. At the look on her face he pushed her forward and pointed at the pair on the other side of the room. “Get me in there before she does something she doesn’t mean to.”</p><p>Maria grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the crowd, leading the way to the locked gym door. She radioed Fury and then Georgia while Clint waited impatiently for the door to give. They were running out of time, but Maria finally swiped her ID and entered her access code to override the lockdown, so Clint pushed open the door and took two big steps into the room.</p><p>He felt Maria slide in behind him, and then the door was shut and locked again. Inside the gym it was eerily quiet; he was too far away to hear what Dom was saying to Natasha, and the other three agents still hadn’t stood up. He tried to piece together what had happened but drew a blank.</p><p>“You know what you’re doing?” Maria asked. She had her gun by her side, and Clint hoped it wouldn’t trigger Natasha even further. He wasn’t about to ask her to put it away, though. Not after she had helped him get this far.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he whispered, and then louder, “Natasha!”</p><p>Natasha didn’t seem to hear him. Dom’s eyes met his over her shoulder and he could see the thinly veiled panic in them. He began to cross the room with Maria following behind him, stepping loudly enough that Natasha would be able to at least hear him coming.</p><p>“We were just having a nice chat,” Dom said carefully when he was within hearing range. “Natasha got a little upset and now we’re trying to take some deep breaths. I’ll go first.”</p><p>“<em>Ya tebya ub’yu</em>,” Natasha snarled, and Clint felt his blood go cold.</p><p>Dom managed to shake her head just slightly. “I don’t understand, hun.”</p><p>“Natalia,” Clint said lowly, and hated every inch of himself for doing so. “Stop. This isn’t your mission.”</p><p>He watched Natasha’s shoulders tense, her arm loosening marginally from where it was pressed against Dom’s throat. He took another step forward, almost close enough that he could reach out and touch her. She spun to face him and Dom fell to her knees, hand reaching up to rub against her neck.</p><p>“This isn’t your mission,” Clint repeated lowly, watching as Natasha’s glassy eyes slid past him to settle on his feet. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything; he just swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and spoke as clearly as he could. “<em>Nad, sleva, rassvet, strela</em>.”</p><p>The reaction was instantaneous. Natasha fell onto her hands and knees, body shuddering as she was sick right by his feet. He carefully knelt beside her, hand rubbing her back as she retched. He looked up and expected to see Dom long gone but she was standing on Natasha’s other side, waiting to see if she could help.</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” Natasha moaned. She brought her hand up and hit her face, hard, and Clint moved to stop her before she could try again. “Stop, stop, stop!”</p><p>“It’s okay,” he started to say. “You’re safe here—”</p><p>“Back away!” A voice called from behind them, and Clint turned to see that the door had been opened to allow Agent Sitwell and a Strike Team to enter. Maria cursed under her breath and Clint fought every inch of his being to not go back to Natasha. He put his hands on his head instead and tried to ignore the whimpers he could hear coming from behind him.</p><p>“Sitwell,” Maria said tensely. “This is under control.”</p><p>“Get the agents to Medical,” Sitwell ordered the Strike Team. He pointed at Clint. “You, back to your room.”</p><p>“She needs help,” Clint said. “I know what to do. She’s still not—”</p><p>“I don’t care, Agent,” Sitwell snapped. “You weren’t supposed to be here, and <em>she’s </em>dangerous.”</p><p>“It was one of the other agents,” Dom said, stepping forward. “He said something, a word. I won't repeat it because I don’t want my Agent to be triggered again.”</p><p>“I know it,” Clint said desperately. “And I know how to help her. She <em>needs </em>help.”</p><p>“You’re going back to your room,” Sitwell said. “And she’s going back to psych until we review whatever happened here.”</p><p>“Let him help, Sitwell,” Maria argued. She gestured to Natasha, who was still on the ground with her hands tangled in her hair. “She’s a person too.”</p><p>“I have direct orders not to let them be together. He can go back to his room or he’ll find himself suspended.”</p><p>Clint dropped beside Natasha again, easing her hands away from her head. “I have to go, okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” she whispered, gaze still too vacant for Clint’s liking. “Bed-Stuy.”</p><p>“No,” Clint choked, blinking back tears. He wanted to stay with her, to wrap his arms around her and help her through the inevitable comedown that was brewing behind her eyes, but he knew that if he did then his punishment would only be extended and it would be even longer before he saw her again. He steeled himself and stood up. “You’re okay, Tasha. Dom is here.”</p><p>“And me,” Georgia said, appearing at his side out of breath. She surveyed the scene in front of her and then turned to Sitwell, hands on her hips. “If you’re making him leave then you can make the rest of them leave. I need space with my patient.”</p><p>Sitwell glared at her before turning and barking orders that had both inside and outside of the gym clearing out. Maria gave him a sympathetic look and joined him, knocking her shoulder against him.</p><p>“I’ll come with you to wait for Coulson,” she told him. “She’ll be okay with them.”</p><p>“She might hurt herself,” he told Georgia, trying to remember everything that had happened last time she had been triggered. “She’s gonna be confused and she’s probably gonna lose a lot of time. Just… just be patient? Don’t let her think she’s bad.”</p><p>“I won't,” Georgia said honestly. “I promise, Clint. We’ve got her back.”</p><p>It didn’t make it any easier to leave. Clint walked backwards, watching Georgia gently pull Natasha into her side so she could cradle her head against her chest. Dom crouched beside them and Clint had never been more thankful to have them on their side. She could have left the second she was free, and instead she chose to stay.</p><p>“It’s stupid,” he muttered to Maria as they finally left the gym. He swiped angrily at a tear that had managed to break through his walls, then clenched his hands into fists. “It’s just a word. What kind of monster breaks another person <em>that badly</em>?”</p><p>“She’ll be okay with them,” Maria said firmly. “And when Coulson’s back from running his op, Sitwell will have hell to pay.”</p><p>Maria’s words were reassuring, but every step away from Natasha felt like a knife to the heart. He just wanted it to be over, for both of them; he wanted Natasha to be free of the memories that still lingered like ghosts in the back of her mind, and he wanted someone to trust that he knew what he was doing. Every step forward was followed by three giant leaps back these days, and it was starting to hurt just a little too much.</p><p>He let Maria lead him to Coulson’s office on autopilot and tried not to think about what he had left behind, but the words had left a bitter taste in his mouth and he knew he would carry it with him forever.  </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello loveys!! finally another chapter lmao, i hope you enjoy!! georgia is a baddie and i love her sm btw so she's probably gonna be in this fic quite a bit!! 🥰</p><p>warnings for a small, off-handed comment about death being an easier option (take care of yourselves okay!!)</p><p>happy reading and leave a comment if you like x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I want my patient moved off the premises.” Georgia laid her palms flat on the desk and leant forward until she was eye to eye with Fury. “I want her out of this environment.”</p><p>Fury raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a deal I can make right now Agent Love.”</p><p>“With all due respect, Director,” Georgia said sternly. “I’m not asking.”</p><p>The office descended into a tense silence. Clint looked anywhere other than the stand-off between Fury and Georgia; they had been in the middle of going over the blueprints for a new mission when the therapist had burst in, demanding that Natasha be removed from S.H.I.E.L.D following the incident in the gym.</p><p>Coulson and Maria had both asked her to leave, but Georgia had stood her ground. Clint admired her for that, if only because it proved how much she genuinely cared about Natasha. He had seen her once, after Coulson had returned from his debrief and taken him down to psych. She had been unconscious, much to both his and Georgia’s annoyance. Drugging her had been Sitwell’s idea, even though she had eventually calmed down enough to walk out of the gym with Georgia willingly. Clint didn’t think he could hate someone more than he hated Sitwell at that moment.</p><p>“Where do you propose she goes, Georgia?” Coulson asked after a moment.</p><p>Georgia shrugged. “Anywhere is better than here.”</p><p>“She can’t be let out on the street,” Maria protested. “She’s unpredictable. It would be negligent to allow her access to the public—”</p><p>“She’s not a monster,” Clint cut in quietly. He felt all eyes in the room turn to him and slouched down further in his chair, keeping his hands clenched in his lap to fight the anger that bubbled under his skin. “She’s just a person.”</p><p>“I know that, Clint,” Georgia said. She moved away from the desk and pulled out the chair beside him, resting her hand on his arm and squeezing gently. “I’m not implying that she needs to be taken away because she’s dangerous. I want to help her.”</p><p>“Let me hear it then, Agent,” Fury said. “What is your proposed plan?”</p><p>“Natasha would thrive in therapy if she was allowed the room to breathe,” Georgia said. “I want her to feel comfortable. She needs to feel safe and at home.”</p><p>“This <em>will </em>be her home though,” Coulson said. “S.H.I.E.L.D is where Natasha and Clint will live until they’re old enough to purchase their own apartment.”</p><p>“She’s spent half her time here in a psych ward,” Georgia snapped. “This isn’t home. They lived on their own for years and from what I’ve heard from everyone involved, Natasha made improvements.”</p><p>“Before she started going backwards again,” Maria reminded her. “Barton told us he was worried she was getting worse.”</p><p>“If I knew it was gonna be like this, I never would have agreed to it.” Clint took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in his head. He wanted to run and take Natasha with him, far away from S.H.I.E.L.D and the people who didn’t believe in them. “We would have been better off letting you shoot us.”</p><p>Georgia brought her hand up to her mouth, face stricken. Clint didn’t look at any of them, regretting the words now that they had left his mouth. He appreciated their help, and he wanted to tell them that instead, but he was so <em>mad</em>. It was too hard to pretend that he was okay with the decisions that were being made without their permission. If they had stayed in Brooklyn, if they had kept their heads down and tried to move on with their lives, then maybe they would just be okay.</p><p>Except, deep down Clint didn’t want to be <em>just </em>okay. He wanted to be happy, the way that he had felt when he was younger and waiting to see Natasha skipping down the gravel road. He wanted them to be able to live the kind of life that they deserved, and that wasn’t going to happen unless they had help.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Maria said suddenly. “It’s easy to get caught up in the business side of things.”</p><p>Coulson glanced at Fury. “They’ve stayed at my apartment with no problem in the past.”</p><p>“If we could just <em>try</em>,” Georgia said. “A month or two in a safe house. Off the grid. A place with a lot of room.”</p><p>“You would need supervision,” Fury said. “Phil?”</p><p>“It’s been a while between vacations, sir,” Coulson said, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I know just the place, actually.”</p><p>Fury considered them. Georgia held her head high, refusing to back down. Clint sucked in a deep breath, waiting, <em>hoping</em>, that the Director would see her point.</p><p>“Fine,” Fury said after a lengthy pause, and Clint let out the air he had been holding. “Two months. Agent Coulson has the authority to pull the plug on this experiment at any time. If there’s no improvement upon your return, we consider the alternative.”</p><p>Clint didn’t wait to hear what the alternative was. He leapt out of his chair, making his way to the front of Fury’s desk so he could thrust his hand out towards him. Fury considered him carefully for a moment, then took his hand and shook firmly. Maria snorted but he didn’t let it annoy him; if anything, he felt the happiest he had in months.</p><p>“Thank you, sir,” Georgia said. “I know more than anything that Natasha <em>will</em> overcome these obstacles. She’s a strong girl.”</p><p>“Can’t deny that,” Maria said. “Can we finish planning this out now, or—”</p><p>“No need,” Coulson interrupted. “Assign it to another Strike Team. Maybe May’s, just to piss her off.”</p><p>“You’re playing with fire, Coulson,” Fury warned, but Coulson just smiled and loosened the tie around his neck.</p><p>“I’m on vacation, remember?”</p>
<hr/><p>Clint blinked blearily, bringing an arm up to rub tiredly at his eyes. Natasha shifted against him but didn’t wake; they had been driving for hours already, and once she had worked through her initial hesitation, she had relaxed enough to finally fall asleep tucked against his side.</p><p>He had been shocked to see her that morning, despite having been warned by Georgia that she hadn’t been doing too well. There were deep purple bags beneath her eyes, and her hair was knotted heavily against her back. They told him that she had lost time after the incident at the gym and hadn’t woken up from the sedatives as well as they had hoped. Clint could have told them that, but he had bit his tongue and let Natasha curl her arms around his neck instead.</p><p>Georgia glanced back at them from the front seat. <em>Okay?</em></p><p>She was learning basic ASL, and despite not knowing much she was trying her hardest. Clint smiled and pushed his aids back onto his ears, waiting for the world to come alive around him. The sound of the wind rushing by outside took a second to get used to, but then the smooth voice of Louis Armstrong filled the car and he relaxed again.</p><p>“How is she?” Georgia asked again.</p><p>“Good,” Clint said softly. He brushed some of Natasha’s hair off her forehead, watching her eyes flutter beneath the lids. “I think… I think this will be a good idea.”</p><p>“I know it will,” Georgia smiled. “S.H.I.E.L.D isn’t our final destination, and we can't expect progress to be made in an environment that’s so hostile. The people there were treating her like an animal, and she was beginning to react the way they expected her to.”</p><p>“The Council don’t know the first thing about what it means to be an agent,” Coulson chimed in. “They want a machine.”</p><p>“Sounds like the Red Room,” Clint muttered. “We escape one cage just to fall back into another.”</p><p>“We’re breaking the chains,” Georgia said. “We’re not letting any of them dictate Natasha’s life. She needs people to trust her. She needs freedom.”</p><p>“She never liked being told what to do,” Clint said softly. “Unless she didn’t have a choice.”</p><p>“Well, there’s plenty of choices where we’re headed,” Coulson assured him. “And look. Home sweet home.”</p><p>Clint peeked out the window as they turned down a long gravel driveway. It felt strangely like they were back in Iowa, even though Clint knew that it was actually Mississippi. The gravel, the fields, and the two-storey house with a wraparound porch all reminded him almost too much of his old house. There was a tire swing hanging from a tree, and a big red barn that looked like it had seen better days.</p><p>He carefully rubbed Natasha’s shoulder as the car came to a stop by the house. She made a noise in the back of her throat and burrowed further against him, hands clenching around his hoodie. It had been so long since he had been able to hold her and he knew that she would have been feeling as disjointed as he did without her touch. He almost didn’t want to wake her, but it was almost time for dinner and his stomach was already rumbling.</p><p>“Hey, Tash,” he whispered in her ear. “Time to get up. We’re here.”</p><p>Georgia and Coulson went ahead with their meagre bags, accidentally slamming the front door behind them. Natasha’s eyes flew open and she was halfway out of the car before she seemed to realise where she was, and then she fell back into Clint’s lap and yawned.</p><p>“Where?” She asked.</p><p>“Safe house in Mississippi,” Clint told her. “Georgia and Coulson are inside.”</p><p>As if on cue, Georgia poked her head out the door and waved them in. Natasha’s lips quirked slightly as she got out of the car, offering her hand to help Clint up. She didn’t let go as they walked to the house and into the kitchen. She only dropped it when Coulson slide a plate of microwave pizza pockets in front of her.</p><p>“Five-star meal for our first night,” Georgia teased, taking a seat opposite them. “How did you sleep, Natasha?”</p><p>“Fine,” she replied quickly, then frowned. “<em>Izvinite. </em>I am… I forget to be…”</p><p>She trailed off, and Georgia let the conversation go. They ate mostly in silence and then helped Coulson with the dishes before heading upstairs to find their rooms. They were on the opposite ends of the landing, with the bathroom between them, though Clint knew that it wouldn’t make a difference. There was no way he would be leaving Natasha on her own, no matter what Coulson said.</p><p>“Will you help wash?” Natasha asked as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above her dresser. She lifted a hand to indicate her head, then let it fall heavily to her side. “I pull it.”</p><p>“Yea, Georgia told me,” he admitted. “It’s not your fault, Nat. They handled it terribly.”</p><p>“I am scared,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “They put needle in, say is for helping me sleep. But what if is just trick? No one tell me what is in.”</p><p>“We’re not gonna let that happen again,” Clint swore. He pulled her S.H.I.E.L.D issue pyjamas out of her bag and indicated down the hall. “Shower?”</p><p>Neither Coulson nor Georgia were on the second storey, so they crept into the bathroom and shut the door behind them. There was no lock, though Clint didn’t expect his handler to come barging in without at least knocking first. He turned the water on and fiddled with the taps until the temperature was just right, then stepped aside to let Natasha in.</p><p>She tilted her head back, letting the water run down her face. Clint kicked off his own clothes and squeezed in with her, leaving his aids on the bathroom counter. He pressed a kiss to Natasha’s bare shoulder and felt his heart rate increase when she turned to grin at him softly. He leant forward until he could touch his forehead to hers, hand carefully placed on her side so he could finger spell against her skin.</p><p><em>Missed you</em>.</p><p>He watched her lips move. “Miss you too.”</p><p>He made quick work of detangling and washing her hair, and then they shuffled out and took turns cleaning their teeth. It felt like Brooklyn and all of the other cities after Iowa; just the two of them, living together and moving together, loving each other without having to worry about what came next.</p><p>Natasha went ahead to her room while Clint fiddled with the settings on his hearing aids for the umpteenth time. When he was content that they weren’t going to create any more feedback he wandered out too, almost bumping into Georgia as she left Natasha’s room.</p><p>“Um, I’m just saying goodnight,” he offered lamely.</p><p>Georgia rolled her eyes. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are. I don’t care, Clint. I want her to feel safe more than anything.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clint nodded, feeling the heat fade from his cheeks. “Thanks. I guess we’ll see you tomorrow?”</p><p>“You can count on it,” Georgia smiled. “Sleep well, okay?”</p><p>Natasha was sitting in the middle of the bed when he entered, hair brush in hand. He shut the door behind him and sat on the headboard, letting her shuffle back until she was flush with his chest. He took the brush and hesitantly ran it through her hair, wincing as it caught on a knot.</p><p>“Is okay,” Natasha assured him. She had her hands flat against his thighs, legs curled beneath her. “You don’t hurt me.”</p><p>“It’s pretty bad,” he muttered. “Just tell me—”</p><p>“Clint,” she said softly, squeezing his leg. “Is okay.”</p><p>He brushed slowly, watching the tension leave her shoulders with every stroke. Her hair began to curl at the ends as it dried, and even when it was finally tangle-free he kept going. It was peaceful, and he thought that they deserved at least one peaceful moment after the mess that had been the last few months.</p><p>When he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t finished any more, he set the brush aside and turned her to face him. “Better?”</p><p>“Feel like me,” she said. “<em>Almost</em> me.”</p><p>“I think this will be good,” he said carefully. “This farm or whatever. Away from all the assholes that treat you badly.”</p><p>“And you,” she said. She reached up to run her finger across his cheekbone, eyes lit with something that Clint hadn’t seen for a long time. “Will not be easy.”</p><p>“No,” he agreed. “Nothing we ever do is easy.”</p><p>Natasha pulled the covers up and they slid down beneath them. It wasn’t long before she was draping herself over him, ankles locked together and damp hair in his face. She smelt like vanilla fresh air; he kissed her slowly, sweetly, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.</p><p>“Okay birdbrain,” she said eventually. “I am tired. Tomorrow is better.”</p><p>“I love you,” he told her, once against her lips and twice against her hair. “I missed you, Tasha, and I fucking love you.”</p><p>Natasha smiled, eyes shining, and Clint realised what he could see swimming in her green orbs. Hope. She hadn’t looked hopeful for so long that the force of it almost took his breath away.</p><p>“<em>Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu, moy yastreb</em>.”</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi yes i'm back with a chapter that i wrote in two hours oops anyway it's midnight and trust me i haven't forgotten this fic but updates may be a lil slow to begin with (especially bc i'm working on an exciting project rn!!) thank u for all the love on the last chapter and i hope u enjoy this too 🥰</p><p>warnings for a small mention of unintentional self harm (remember when i said it gets worse before it gets better?)</p><p>thank you for reading and drop a comment if u like!! ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Clint woke up in the morning Natasha was already gone. He stretched, cold toes reaching towards the door, then swung his feet out of bed and sat on the mattress for a second, scrubbing his hand over his face. His hearing aids were on the bedside table beside Natasha’s hair brush. If it weren’t for the clothes she had left strewn on the floor, he would almost think she had never been there.</p><p>He made his way slowly downstairs, pocketing his aids instead of hooking them around his ears. He enjoyed the quiet mornings and the peacefulness that came with being alone with his thoughts; if there was one thing S.H.I.E.L.D had taught him it was to appreciate a moment on his own. He could see ten agents alone in the five-minute walk from his room to the dining hall, and so far none of them had been very friendly.</p><p>He found Natasha at the kitchen table with Georgia. He could smell pancakes and spotted Coulson at the stove, seemingly keeping himself apart from whatever conversation was happening at the table. Georgia noticed him enter and smiled but Natasha didn’t turn around, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the mug of tea in front of her.</p><p>“Hi,” he said as he sat beside her, then gestured to his ears so that Georgia knew he wouldn’t hear her. He let his hand drop on top of Natasha’s and squeezed her fingers, trying to get her to look at him. “Hey, Nat.”</p><p><em>Hi</em>, she signed. <em>How did you sleep?</em></p><p>
  <em>Great. You?</em>
</p><p>She shrugged. <em>Okay. I slept so much in the car that I didn’t really need to last night.</em></p><p><em>Oh. </em>Clint frowned and glanced at Georgia, but she had moved to help Coulson serve breakfast. <em>I didn’t feel you wake up.</em></p><p><em>I was sneaky</em>, Natasha said, lips tugging up at the corners. It didn’t reach her eyes, though, and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take for her to feel like herself again. <em>I sat on the roof. Watched the stars.</em></p><p><em>That would be nice</em>, Clint replied.</p><p>It was strange to realise that Natasha had woken up during the night without him noticing. Usually, if she wasn’t having some kind of dream he still felt her, and even if she was just rolling over he would still wake and watch her blearily for a minute. He didn’t know if it was because they had been apart for so long or if he had just been tired after the trip; either way, he didn’t want it to become the new normal. He had to have her back, especially when she was struggling.</p><p>A heaping plate of pancakes was placed on the table in front of them, interrupting their conversation. Clint picked his hearing aids out of his pocket and put them on, adjusting the volume and hearing the sizzling butter from the pan. S.H.I.E.L.D’s tech was miles ahead of anything on the mainstream market but he wasn’t quite ready to find out just how far the aids could go yet.</p><p>“Tuck in,” Georgia said enthusiastically, stabbing her fork into one of the pancakes and dumping it unceremoniously on her plate. “Coulson’s a good cook, you know.”</p><p>“We know,” Clint said. He poured maple syrup onto his own stack of pancakes and watched out of the corner of his eye as Natasha hesitantly copied him. “But to be fair, I think we can cook well too.”</p><p>“Hot dogs and noodles don’t count, Clint,” Coulson called over his shoulder. “Especially hot dogs in cans.”</p><p>Clint rolled his eyes. “You’re missing out, sir.”</p><p>“What is happen today?” Natasha asked suddenly. She cut a small chunk out of the pancake and chewed it carefully, eyes locked onto Georgia’s. “What I have to do?”</p><p>“You can do whatever you want, lovey,” Georgia replied easily. “We’re gonna have a little chat after breakfast and then you can go and have a look around. Only rule is you can’t leave the property.”</p><p>“I don’t want,” Natasha said fiercely. “Memory is stuck. I don’t want to think. Just leave it there.”</p><p>“We’ve talked about this, Nat,” Georgia said softly. “We need to work through this memory before we try anything else. You know that it’s holding you back. And it’s okay to be scared of it.”</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” Natasha snarled, banging her fist on the table. Clint jumped at the noise and immediately reached for her, pulling up short to give her the option. She ignored him and glared at Georgia, all rage and frustration. “I don’t want.”</p><p>Georgia’s expression didn’t change. “I’m sorry, Nat. You agreed to come here, and you knew that that meant we would still be holding therapy sessions. I’ve been honest with you, okay? And I’m only trying to he—”</p><p>Natasha stood suddenly, sliding her nearly full plate across the table in anger. Before anyone could stop her she was stomping her way up the stairs, and after a second the bedroom door slammed too, loud enough that it almost felt like the walls were shaking. Clint could remember the last time she had slammed a door like that and sighed, because it hadn’t ended exactly as they had planned then either.</p><p>“She’s okay,” Georgia said to him. “She needs to find some control. She’s testing her boundaries to see how far I’m willing to let her take it. I wouldn’t think that she’s ever been able to act that way before.”</p><p>Clint shook his head. “Control was probably the first thing that was taken from her. Then he used it to make her…”</p><p>Coulson sat at the head of the table, folding his hands together and resting his chin atop them. “If I were her, I would be much angrier with the world.”</p><p>Clint didn’t feel hungry anymore, but he also didn’t want Coulson’s hard work to go to waste. He sat and ate the rest of his pancakes with Georgia, making small conversation about anything and everything. She was the kind of person he knew he could be friends with; she reminded him of Laura in the way that she remained level-headed and kind, no matter the situation. He didn’t know much about her, but he wasn’t sure she had many people outside of S.H.I.E.L.D in her life.</p><p>Coulson had brought a bow and quiver full of arrows for Clint to practise with, so after getting dresses with no sign of Natasha he decided to take it outside and use the tree in the front yard as a target. The air was crisp and it smelt familiar, like a memory from long ago. As he pulled back on the string it felt like his whole body slotted back into place. The arrow hit the bullseye, and Clint smiled like a kid.</p><hr/><p>“You’ve been out here for hours,” Georgia said once she was sure she was in hearing range. Clint turned to find her with a glass of juice and a sandwich. “Thought you might like some lunch.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Clint said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He squinted back at the house but there was no sign of Natasha or Coulson. “She come out yet?”</p><p>“No,” Georgia replied easily. “She needs time. I’m sure you understand how her mind works better than anyone else.”</p><p>He snorted. “I think I do, and then something happens and we’re back to square one.”</p><p>He sat at the base of the tree with the plate balanced on his lap. He thought Georgia might sit beside him but she went to the swing instead, climbing up and kicking her feet idly. It was a nice day, and Clint wished that Natasha were there with him so they could lay in the sun and pick out shapes in the clouds.</p><p>“It’s a big responsibility,” Georgia said. “You’ve done a remarkable job. That’s what clued me into you two, you know.”</p><p>“Really?” Clint asked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. Georgia was almost like an older sister, and he felt just as embarrassed talking to her about his relationship as he did with Chase. “How?”</p><p>“I’ve had all kinds of people come through,” she said slowly. “It’s horrible, but many of them won’t stick around when the…”</p><p>“Problem?” Clint guessed when she paused, but she was quick to shake her head no.</p><p>“Never a problem. When the trauma is this severe, it’s easier for loved ones to just walk away.”</p><p>“Do you believe that?” Clint asked. “That it’s easier?”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” she said. “Both decisions are hard to make. But it takes a really strong kind of love for someone to make the effort.”</p><p>“For her, always,” Clint said softly. “She’s worth everything.”</p><p>Georgia smiled. “I agree. She’s a very special girl, and I think that there’s so much potential hidden in that scarred brain of hers. It’s not going to be easy, though.”</p><p>Nothing was ever easy. Leaving Iowa hadn’t been easy, and making a start for themselves in Brooklyn hadn’t been easy either. Deciding to let Chase stay, sending Natasha off with Yelena to hunt ghosts that they didn’t know existed anymore; all of those choices had felt like they were standing on the edge of something unknown, and they always hit the ground harder than expected.</p><p>He shrugged. “Nothing good is easy. She has us.”</p><p>“And you have me.” Georgia jumped off the swing and tilted her head towards the house. “You can always talk to me too, Clint. Don’t forget that. Now, how about we find a movie that we can all watch together.”</p><p>“Okay,” he agreed, taking his dishes and the bow with him as he followed her towards the house. He hung the bow on the coat rack and dumped the dishes in the sink for later, then poured himself a glass of water. Now that he had stopped, his muscles were beginning to ache in that way that told him he’d been working hard.</p><p>By the time Clint made it back to the lounge, Natasha was sitting across from Georgia. She looked much more refreshed than she had that morning, with her hair in two braids down her back and her cheeks rosy from the shower. In the light of the day he could see a dark purple bruise in the crook of her elbow. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and crossed over to her, pulling her against his side.</p><p>“Hey,” he said.</p><p>“Hi,” she whispered. He felt her breath shake on his neck and smoothed his fingers down her back to help ground her. “I think I try memory.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clint said. He pulled away and offered his hand instead, but she shook her head and instead took a red-haired doll out of a bag by her feet. “Oh my god, it’s Yulia.”</p><p>“I asked to see some of Natasha’s personal belongings when she was in psych,” Georgia explained. “I wanted her to have something familiar. Nat chose the doll, but in the end they never let her have it.”</p><p>Natasha hugged Yulia to her chest and nodded at Georgia, eyes steely. “Ready.”</p><p>“Okay,” Georgia said. “Let’s start at the last thing you remember from that day.”</p><p>“I remember fire,” Natasha began slowly, closing her eyes. “Is fire everywhere. Girls scream. I light fire. <em>Why?</em>”</p><p>Even though he had heard it before, Natasha’s re-telling of the night she destroyed the Red Room still gave him goose bumps. Now that the dust had settled Fury and Coulson weren’t convinced that she had been as successful as she thought she was, and it didn’t help that the hospital fire was the last thing she remembered before he found her. For all they knew, there could have been weeks between the two events.</p><p>“Don’t worry about that right now, Natasha,” Georgia said softly. “Can you tell me what happens next? Walk me through it.”</p><p>“I light fire,” Natasha said. “I hear screams. I am… I am needing to go, but I’m… I’m stuck. All I see is flames.”</p><p>She moved suddenly, like she’d been shocked, and the sound that escaped her lips tore straight through Clint’s heart. She opened her eyes and pressed her fists against them, curling in until she was almost in the foetal position on the couch.</p><p>“It’s okay, Natasha,” Georgia said. She moved slowly from her chair until she could kneel in front of Natasha, hands flat on her thighs where they could be seen. “Come back to this room now. Tell me where you are.”</p><p>“I see smoke,” Natasha continued, voice rising an octave in her panic. “They are chained to bed, they are stuck too. I want to run. Someone… Someone has hand on shoulder. I can’t. <em>Otpusti menya</em>!”</p><p>“Come back to this room, Natasha,” Georgia repeated. “Five things you can see.”</p><p>“Madame,” Natasha gasped, and Clint felt his blood run cold as she moved her hands from her eyes to cover her ears. “Madame. She make me. She want me to. Is trick. She <em>hurt me</em>. Yel—”</p><p>She broke off into a sob, then hit herself twice across the face. Georgia made the split decision to place her own hands on Natasha’s cheeks, blocking the blows from hurting her. Clint shuffled closer to her too, ignoring the pounding of his heart to instead wrap an arm loosely around her waist. He didn’t know if it was the right move to make, but Natasha didn’t pull away from him.</p><p>“Stop,” she moaned. “I don’t want to remember. Take it out.”</p><p>“You’ve done so well, Nat,” Georgia said, catching her gaze as it flickered around the room. “Let’s take some deep breaths and call it a day.”</p><p>“She make me,” Natasha continued to murmur, even as she copied Georgia’s breathing techniques.  “She make me. <em>Marionetka na verevochke. Izvinite</em>.”</p><p>Georgia couldn’t speak Russian, but she seemed to have reached the same conclusion that Clint had regardless. They stared at each other for a moment, unable to hide the shock on their faces, because despite not making any sense at all, Natasha’s memory had never been clearer.</p><p>She had been used. And if her memory was right, then the Red Room was very much still alive.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey everyone omg finally had time to update again!! it's not much but i felt like my poor baby clint needed a lil love so here we are 🥰 now it's nearly midnight and i have to be awake for work way too soon so i'm keeping this short 😔</p><p>thank you for reading!! drop a comment if u like, and i love u ❤️ i hope you're all happy and healthy x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Coulson led Clint away from the house, past the barn and the tree he had been using for target practise earlier. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as a light flicked on in the lounge before the curtains were drawn. Georgia’s silhouette passed through the kitchen and he imagined her making hot tea for Natasha.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Clint asked. His breath fogged out in front of him and he tucked his hands securely into the front pocket of his hoodie. It was cold and they had only just finished dinner when Coulson had asked him to go for a walk. “Sir?”</p><p>“You can call me Phil,” Coulson said.</p><p>Clint frowned, then shrugged. “Okay. You didn’t have to drag me all the way out here just to tell me that.”</p><p>“I thought we should give Georgia and Natasha a moment alone,” Coulson explained. “This afternoon was hard on everyone.”</p><p>“Have you told Fury?” Clint said.</p><p>“No. Some conversations can wait.”</p><p>Coulson continued down the drive and turned left, walking along the gravel road. Clint followed and tried to think of something to say, but he was far too curious about where they were actually going to think of anything else. The moon was bright and high in the sky, and despite the ache he could feel from the air against his cheeks, it was a refreshing kind of night.</p><p>They had spent the afternoon walking on tiptoes around Natasha, who had burrowed herself beneath a blanket on the couch and refused to come out for any of them. The memory had shaken her, more so than anything else had in the past few months, and Clint felt wary about leaving her alone with Georgia. If she relapsed there was a very real possibility that she could hurt Georgia like she had Dom. He didn’t want to hand S.H.I.E.L.D the final straw they needed to terminate her.</p><p>“Georgia can take care of herself,” Coulson said, as though he knew exactly what Clint was thinking. “Besides, I trust Natasha.”</p><p>“You heard her,” Clint said carefully. “<em>Puppet on a string</em>. All it takes is one pull.”</p><p>“What do you think?” Coulson asked.</p><p>“I think that sometimes it’s true,” he said. “Sometimes she has no control over any of it. It’s like she’s fully conscious with no way to make a decision. I love her, but it can be dangerous.”</p><p>“You think she’s dangerous?”</p><p>Clint huffed, cheeks warming with a sudden burst of red-hot anger. “No. She was just a kid, Coulson. It wasn’t her fault. She’s deadly because she had to be to survive but <em>god</em>, she’s just a person too. And it’s shit, you know? It’s so shitty that nobody can see past that.”</p><p>Clint had overtaken Coulson now, though he didn’t really know where he was leading them. He kept walking ahead, using his frustration to fuel him, using years of pain and rage to propel him away from the hurt that he had seen swimming in Natasha’s eyes. They were hurting her in their quest to help her and he just wanted it all to stop. He just wanted to feel <em>happy </em>without there being a reason behind it.</p><p>“Everybody sees the assassin, and I get that. But do you think she signed up for that? Do you think <em>we </em>signed up for that? It’s always been the two of us, together, and I couldn’t let her do it alone. Do you know what it feels like to make that kind of choice? Fuck, Coulson, we were just kids. <em>We were just kids. </em>Who the fuck does that to kids?”</p><p>He didn’t realise he was crying until the first sob pushed past his aching lungs and echoed in the still night. He doubled over, hands pressed against his knees while he tried to breathe deeply the way his shrink had taught him. It didn’t work. He just wanted to punch something, or put an arrow back through Ivan’s head.</p><p>“Clint,” Coulson said softly. He rested his hand on Clint’s shoulder and the touch alone was enough to make him start crying in earnest, all of his fears bursting out into the cool air. “It’s okay. It’s okay to be upset.”</p><p>“It’s not fair,” he cried, unable to find the words to say what he really wanted to say. “We’re scared, Phil. We—we’re so scared you’re gonna split us up. Please don’t take her away. She doesn’t mean it.”</p><p>His legs buckled and he hit the road, feeling the gravel dig into his knees through his jeans. Coulson knelt beside him and before Clint even really knew what was happening he found himself pulled against his handler’s side, strong arms wrapping around his shaking shoulders.</p><p>Only Natasha hugged him. His mother had, once a long time ago, when he was just a kid before she was caught up in Harold’s lies. His father had <em>never </em>hugged him, and for one brief, heartbreaking second Clint didn’t actually know what to do. His instincts told him to lash out and run, but then he felt himself relax and tentatively hugged Coulson back.</p><p>“Natasha isn’t going anywhere,” Coulson reassured him. “Neither are you. We’re going to help you. I see you, Clint. So does Georgia and Fury and Dom. We all see you.”</p><p>Clint drew in a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t ever lose her. That’s probably not healthy. But half of me can’t walk around the world and live. I need the rest of my soul.”</p><p>He almost expected Coulson to scoff at his choice of words. Instead he just pulled back, holding Clint at arm’s length so that he could look him in the eye. There was no judgement in his gaze; if anything, Clint didn’t think he had ever felt so understood as he did in that moment. With just one look, Coulson had told him everything he needed to hear.</p><p>“You won’t. You’re a package team, Clint, and we know that. Nothing will happen until you’re both well into the healing process.”</p><p>“I’m fine—”</p><p>“No,” Coulson interrupted. “You’re not fine. You’ve been holding it together for longer than I can imagine, with the added pressure of Natasha’s trauma. I’m not saying that she’s at fault here for anything. But I think you need to focus on yourself, as well.”</p><p>“I know,” Clint admitted. “But it was easier to be strong for her.”</p><p>“You can only hold so much on your shoulders,” Coulson said. He stood up, then offered his hand for Clint to take and pulled him to his feet, too. “Georgia told me that she would talk with you, if you felt comfortable. I think you should think about it.”</p><p>“I don’t need to,” Clint said firmly. He scrubbed a hand over his face and laughed. “I’ll do it. Is this the reason you dragged me out here?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Coulson said coyly. “You’re my agent now, but more than that you’re my friend. I care about you.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Clint said gruffly. “I’ve never had anyone like you in my life before.”</p><p>“There’s a first for everything.” Coulson clapped him on the back and began to make his way back towards the farm. “Hurry up. We can’t let the girls get all the popcorn.”</p><p>Clint rolled his eyes but hurried to catch up with Coulson, feeling a little lighter than when he had left the house earlier.</p>
<hr/><p>Back at the farm, things hadn’t progressed as much as Clint knew Coulson had hoped for. Natasha was still just a tear-stained face peeking out from underneath a mountain of blankets, and Georgia was sitting in the armchair across from her nursing a mug of cocoa. The TV was playing a cartoon Clint had never seen before, so he hoped that Natasha hadn’t either.</p><p>“We’re back,” Coulson announced as they stamped their dirty shoes on the mat. “It’s going to be a cold night. We might need some extra blankets on the beds.”</p><p>Georgia smiled, though her eyes looked tired. “I think Nat has the best spot in the house.”</p><p>Coulson walked into her line of sight and made eye-contact with her. “You look comfortable, Natasha.”</p><p>“<em>Da</em>,” she mumbled, eyeing him critically. “I go for walk?”</p><p>“No,” Coulson said gently. “We’re going to watch a movie. Any suggestions?”</p><p>Clint made his way over, crouching beside the couch. Natasha’s hand shot out immediately and she rubbed her thumb over his cheek, frowning. He knew she would be able to see his red eyes, the way his hands still shook slightly from the breakdown. Anxiety hummed in the background of his mind but he didn’t let it out.</p><p>“Okay?” She asked. “You are sad.”</p><p>“I was,” Clint told her. “Now, not so much. Coulson could put Georgia out of a job.”</p><p>Georgia snorted. “I’d like to see him try. Now, how about we start this movie? Phil can make the popcorn.”</p><p>Coulson raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue, walking back into the kitchen. Natasha shuffled forward on the couch, giving him just enough room to slide in behind her and wrap his arms around her chest. He felt her relax and blinked back tears that still threatened to fall, because he loved her so much it hurt; loved her so much that it felt like her heart beat for his, too, and he knew that losing her would obliterate him.</p><p>Natasha tilted her head to look at him. “What you talk about?”</p><p>“How unfair it is,” he told her. “You know that. A lot of really bad things happened to us, Tasha.”</p><p>“I know,” she murmured. “We are fix. <em>Fixing</em>. I try.”</p><p>“We always try,” Clint said. “You feeling okay? I know that it wasn’t what you wanted to remember.”</p><p>“Is bad, but Georgia say is okay.” Natasha shrugged, lips pulling up slightly. “Georgia say lots of things. I scream at her.”</p><p>“You made some good points,” Georgia said, reminding Clint that he wasn’t actually alone with Natasha. “I’ll take being screamed at if it makes you feel better, Nat.”</p><p>“<em>Izvinite</em>,” Natasha said. “I like you. I am just… Tired.”</p><p>Coulson came back in with three bowls of popcorn, dumping one unceremoniously on the section of couch that looked like Natasha’s stomach. “Tomorrow we all sleep in. It’s a vacation.”</p><p>“We deserve it,” Georgia said seriously. “Now, Nat hasn’t chosen what we should watch yet. I was hoping you boys could help us out.”</p><p>“Course we can,” Clint said. He leant forward, not caring for once that there were other people around, because Coulson and Georgia were becoming something like family and he didn’t want to keep secrets from them. Natasha met him, like always, and he kissed her slowly, pulling away only to pepper her forehead with feather-light kisses that made her scrunch her nose up. “I vote Monsters Inc.”</p><p>“A kid’s movie?” Coulson asked.</p><p>Natasha sat up only so that she could give him a look. “Is good movie.”</p><p>“Oh my God,” Coulson said, feigning horror. “The children are ganging up on us.”</p><p>Georgia rolled her eyes and tossed a piece of popcorn at his chest. “Put the movie on, Agent.”</p><p>Natasha smiled again, and Georgia did too, and it wasn’t completely normal yet, but it was something close.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello everyone!! here's another chapter, this one with the smallest time jump bc as much as i love the farm i also hate the farm and i lowkey want to get my babies back to shield!! thank you sm for the comments on the last chapter it means more to me than i'll ever be able to articulate 🥰</p><p>warnings: huge warning in this chapter for discussion about an eating disorder, and also eating disorder habits/behaviour. please, please take care of yourselves and do NOT read this chapter if this will trigger you (i'll add a brief summary of this chapter in the end notes in case you would just like to read that)</p><p>take care of yourself. you are so, so important ❤️</p><p>i hope you enjoy this chapter!! leave a comment if u feel like it 😇</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clint doubled over, hands on his knees as he took gulping breaths of air. “Yield.”</p><p>Natasha snorted. “<em>Nyet</em>.”</p><p>“Yes,” he wheezed. “Let’s take a break.”</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” she pressed. Her hair stuck to her temples with sweat and he could see her legs trembling even from where he stood, but she raised her fists defiantly and gave him a pointed look. “We fight.”</p><p>“Nat, c’mon.” Clint straightened and swiped his hand across his own forehead. The afternoon sun was hot and they had been sparring ever since Natasha had bailed on lunch. He just wanted a drink and a cool shower, though he didn’t think that Natasha would agree to either thing at the moment. “I’m tired. You barely had anything to eat. Let’s just go do something else.”</p><p>“Like what?” Natasha snapped. “Is boring. I go inside and Georgia make me talk about feelings.”</p><p>Clint rolled his eyes. “Not always. Besides, Coulson said he was gonna bake a cake.”</p><p>“I don’t want,” she said. “Clint, <em>pozhaluysta</em>. I only want to fight.”</p><p>He hated saying no to her, and a part of him recognised that she knew that, too. It had been a month since they had arrived at the farm and the progress had been slow-going at first; Natasha was too stubborn, and it had taken longer than expected for her to open up in the way that Georgia had hoped for. Now, things seemed to be looking up, and Coulson was already liaising with Fury about when they could all be expected back at base.</p><p>Clint could see the difference, though. Natasha had always wanted her own independence more than anything, and she was finally getting that with them away from S.H.I.E.L.D. She tested her boundaries, sometimes refusing to do things just to see what would happen, and Georgia was more than happy to let her. But there was something ingrained so deep inside Natasha’s psyche that not even Georgia had been able to penetrate it, and that was why they were out in the front yard for the fifth day in a row, sparring for so long that the cuts across his knuckles hadn’t even had time to scab over yet.</p><p>“You gotta do other things,” he said gently. “Tash, you need to let your body rest. Can we hang out? Like we used to?”</p><p>“We are kids then,” Natasha said. He couldn’t be sure, but she almost sounded scared. “Is different.”</p><p>“Is it, though?” Clint asked. He stepped forward and carefully lowered her fists, then brought his hands up to cup her cheeks. “We don’t <em>have</em> to do anything. Being with you is enough.”</p><p>Her lips lifted slightly, though her eyes were still guarded. “Is enough. I don’t—I know, I do. But I don’t know how I stop.”</p><p>“Stop what?” Clint said, brushing his thumb over the dark bag under her right eye and then down across her cheekbone. She closed her eyes, breath shaky in the space between them, and he waited for her to tell him whatever had been bothering her for the last week.</p><p>“Nothing,” she said finally. She opened her eyes and he wasn’t entirely sure he knew who was staring back at him. “What we do then?”</p><p>Clint swallowed his worry for the sake of getting her away from the temporary sparring ring they had made for themselves on the grass. “Um. Good question.”</p><p>He scanned the yard, not really ready to go back to the house even though he had just been asking to. There was the barn, but going into the barn meant that Coulson would likely find them before they could find a quiet place to sit; Clint wasn’t convinced their handler hadn’t bugged the door, despite Natasha not finding anything to prove his theory. The barn also equalled work and his aching muscles weren’t up for anymore labour.</p><p>His gaze settled on the swing that hung from the giant tree to the side of the house. It was homemade and looked like it might fall to pieces, but it promised the type of fun that Natasha hadn’t had for a very long time. He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, too quickly for her to realise he was doing it, then took her hand in his and dragged her along behind him.</p><p>“Swing?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”</p><p>“You love swings,” Clint said. “Jump on, <em>printessa</em>.”</p><p>Natasha rolled her eyes but climbed onto the rickety wooden plank, holding the rope with both hands tightly. Clint tentatively pushed her, and when she didn’t flinch he pushed harder, watching her hair whip around her face and listening for the breathless laughter that he remembered from Brooklyn.</p><p>It didn’t happen. He let her slow, walking around to instead see the flushed smile that had made its way onto her face. “Was high.”</p><p>“Yea,” Clint agreed, smiling too. “Scoot over.”</p><p>He squeezed himself onto the seat beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist so he could hold the rope for balance. He rocked them backwards and forwards with his foot, tilting his head to let the sun warm his neck. The fresh air and the open space either made him want to leave everything behind or run as fast as he could in the opposite direction; today, he was leaning more towards staying.</p><p>“Why you stay?” Natasha asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Her head was resting against his shoulder but she was looking over towards the house, forehead crinkled. “You stay whole time. Even when I can’t look at you.”</p><p>“Cause I love you,” Clint replied easily. “We’ve talked about this before. I love you and I stay because without you the world doesn’t make sense.”</p><p>She shrugged. “But when I… When I cannot look. I not love you, then. And you stay.”</p><p>“You were my best friend before you were anything else,” Clint said. “That means something.”</p><p>“I am trouble,” Natasha mumbled. “Is hard work.”</p><p>“You’re not a burden on anyone, especially me. What brought this on?”</p><p>“Is fine,” Natasha said. She reached up and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, then rested her hand on his thigh. “Sometimes I have thought and don’t know what to do.”</p><p>“That happens to me all the time,” he assured her. “I’m glad you talked to me about it.”</p><p>“I love you,” she said decisively, titling her head so that she could look at him. “With all of me. Even bits that are not me.”</p><p>There was something about the words that set Clint on edge, though he hid it well and met Natasha halfway for a kiss that sent sparks right down to his toes. There would be time to dissect conversations like that one later, when he didn’t have his whole world in his arms. For now he just stayed in the moment, savouring the feel of her lips and hand, refusing to think that anything could be too wrong.</p>
<hr/><p>At dinner, Clint watched Natasha mash her peas into a paste on her plate. He wasn’t keen on green vegetables either, but Coulson had a way of making things taste nothing like what they actually were and for the first time in his life he found himself looking forward to broccoli on his plate each night. It seemed that no matter what Coulson did, though, Natasha still didn’t like it.</p><p>“And then Dom had the <em>nerve </em>to tell me to sleep on my own couch,” Georgia was saying, cutting into her chicken with gusto. “Even though she was the one who had drank so much she could hardly walk.”</p><p>Coulson snorted. “Agent Lane is far too polished for that.”</p><p>“Please. Did you know we actually disliked each other before we started working with Natasha?”</p><p>“Really?” Clint asked, tearing his eyes away from whatever Natasha was doing with her food. “Why did she come to your apartment then?”</p><p>“I was the closest to the bar,” Georgia muttered. “Plus, she knew that I had an early session the next morning. She kept me up for hours.”</p><p>“What changed?” Coulson said.</p><p>Georgia shrugged, brushing her bangs out of her eyes with one hand. “Turns out you just have to get to know someone properly sometimes.”</p><p>Natasha slid her plate away from her and rested her head on her hand, eyes drooping. It wasn’t late, but sleep schedules didn’t exist on the farm; some days, they were up all night, playing cards games and talking just for the sake of talking. Other times, Natasha could have five naps in the span of a day and Clint wouldn’t wake once, not even when she slipped back into bed beside him. He had even found Georgia asleep at the kitchen table once or twice, surrounded by notes and psychology textbooks.</p><p>“Not hungry?” Georgia asked.</p><p>Natasha shook her head slowly. “I go to bed.”</p><p>“Would you like something else?” Coulson said, then gestured to the kitchen. “It’s free ground in there. We’ve got toast, peanut butter, those weird hotdogs in a can that—”</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” Natasha interrupted softly. “I don’t want.”</p><p>Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Georgia started speaking before he could get a word out. “That’s okay, Nat. You’re free to leave if you want to have an early night. We might watch a movie later, so if you’re up for it be sure to come down.”</p><p>Natasha nodded and pushed her chair away from the table, signing <em>I love you</em> against her hip to him before she ascended the stairs. Clint didn’t hear the door close behind her and frowned down at his own dinner, as though it held the answers to the million questions swimming through his mind.</p><p>“I think something’s wrong,” he blurted without thinking. “With Tash.”</p><p>“How so?” Coulson said. “Anything we should be concerned about?”</p><p>“She’s not eating,” he said, and realised as he spoke just how true it was. “And she did that sometimes, in the past, except I thought she just forgot. I thought that maybe they never taught her how to look after herself or maybe… Maybe because they didn’t give it to her, she didn’t know she needed it.”</p><p>“Those are all very valid beliefs,” Georgia said. “From the little we know of her history with the Red Room, healthy habits weren’t explored.”</p><p>“But I think she’s doing it on purpose this time,” Clint whispered. His hand shook slightly and he tightened it into a fist around his fork, feeling the metal push sharply into his palm. “I don’t know. I don’t know what she’s doing but it’s been four days since I saw her—”</p><p>He felt a little like he was betraying Natasha, but he was scared and didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t let her hurt herself, he couldn’t stand back and watch her go through something like that without at least trying to help. He had been that kid once, watching her be bundled into a black car and driven back to a house that held nothing but pain within its walls. He couldn’t let it happen again.</p><p>“Trauma can cause a disruption in the nervous system,” Georgia explained carefully, holding eye contact with him. “That can make it difficult for people who have experienced trauma to manage their emotions.”</p><p>“Natasha has a lot of trauma, Clint,” Coulson added. “We all know that. And you know that you do, too.”</p><p>“Which amplifies your anxiety. It <em>can </em>be hard sometimes, right?”</p><p>“Yea,” Clint nodded. He could feel it now, thrumming beneath his skin, waiting for a crack to appear so that it could drag him down. “Sometimes I just can’t stop it.”</p><p>Georgia smiled softly. “Natasha was never allowed to experience emotions like that, and now that she has a lot of unknown feelings, she’s trying to regain some semblance of control. Eating disorders—”</p><p>“But it’s not,” Clint cut in desperately, looking to Coulson for help. “She just forgot. She just doesn’t know, okay?”</p><p>“I wish it were as simple as forgetting a meal once in a while,” Coulson said. “We’ve noticed it in the last two days as well.”</p><p>“There are high rates of dissociation linked with eating disorders,” Georgia said. “C-PTSD shares that link. It’s difficult to talk about but it’s okay, Clint. She has a superb support network. We’re never going to leave her to struggle on her own.”</p><p>“I know,” he murmured. “I thought if I let her spar with me for hours it would give her some control back. Or, if I just let her decide what we do next. And it didn’t work.”</p><p>“Don’t blame yourself,” Georgia said immediately. “You’re doing so well. We’re all going to show Natasha that what she feels is real and valid, and one day we’re going to leap over this hurdle. It’s just going to take time.”</p><p>“It won’t always look nice,” Coulson added. “Sometimes it might seem like the most painful thing in the world. But it will always be worth it.”</p><p>Clint nodded again, swallowing back the tears that he felt burning his eyes. “Okay. Thanks for… For making me feel like what I say matters.”</p><p>“Thank you for sharing your worries with us,” Georgia replied, reaching across so she could squeeze his hand. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to do that now.”</p><p>“Me too,” Clint said. He put his fork down on his plate and smiled thinly. “Can I be excused?”</p><p>“Of course,” Coulson replied, but Clint was already halfway up the stairs and barely heard him.</p><p>He brushed his teeth on autopilot, ignoring the fact that it was literally dinner time and the sun hadn’t fully sunk behind the mountains yet. He had a shower to wash the last of his anxiety away, and then got dressed in the pyjamas he had kicked underneath the vanity that morning. The reflection that stared back at him from the mirror was familiar, but he was also achingly sad.</p><p>Natasha was lying on her side, hands curled between her cheek and the pillow. Clint carefully climbed in beside her, pulling the blankets up over the two of them and taking out the hearing aid that would be pressed against the pillow. Silvery tears tracked their way down Natasha’s cheeks so he found her legs in the tangle of sheets, hooking an ankle around hers.</p><p>“Did you tell them?” She asked, voice hoarse from crying.</p><p>Clint nodded carefully. “Yea, I did, Tasha.”</p><p>“Okay,” she said. “Okay. <em>Izvinite</em>, Clint. <em>Izv</em>–“</p><p>“No,” he told her softly. “Don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.”</p><p>Natasha’s lower lip wobbled as she said, “hold me?”</p><p>Clint pulled her into his arms, tucked her head against his chest, and tried to hold the pieces of her together for the rest of the night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tl;dr: nat and clint spar for a while, and nat doesn't seem entirely herself. she wonders if she's too much hard work and clint assures her that she isn't. cut to dinner time, nat leaves the table early and clint expresses his worry that she didn't finish her meal. cue ED discussion between clint, coulson and georgia. the chapter ends with clint holding natasha. </p><p>stay safe, and i hope you are happy and healthy in your body ❤️ you are so important, never forget that ✨</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello!! i promise things will (eventually) get better but. not right now lmao. anyway just another short chapter to start setting some things up bc i really want to get the ball rolling 😇 anyway i hope you enjoy!! thank you for all of your wonderful comments 🥰</p><p>small warning for unintentional self-harm but nothing major!</p><p>take care of yourselves (i'm looking at u tash) and ily ❤️❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The nightmare crept up on him slowly, disguising itself as a dream to begin with. Clint could see Natasha on the gravel road ahead of him, smiling, her hair in pigtails and her overalls dusty. He looked down and realised he was young again, probably as young as he had been when he first met her. He smiled too and began walking towards her, hands swinging at his sides.</p><p>Even though it <em>was </em>just a dream, he could feel the heat of the sun on the back of his neck. Natasha didn’t seem to be getting any closer, no matter how fast he walked; he started to run, confused, only to watch on in horror as Ivan appeared behind her, gun pointed at the back of her head. He paused, lungs aching, trying to understand what was happening. Ivan didn’t stop, so Clint made up his mind, running as if his own life depended on it.</p><p>His legs weren’t long enough. He wasn’t fast enough, and every step he took only forced her further away, closer to Ivan. He couldn’t stop, though. He couldn’t leave her on her own with him, couldn’t <em>not </em>try to help her now that he had a second chance to get her away from the man who had caused them so much pain. Except he was only making it worse, and as he ran she fell, Ivan’s hand on her shoulder forcing her down, and the gun was big and Clint wasn’t, and he stretched out his hand, reaching, <em>praying</em>—</p><p>He woke up with a gasp, feeling sweat bead down the back of his neck. He let out a shaky breath and was about to sit up when he felt the bed shift beside him, belatedly remembering that Natasha was asleep too. He couldn’t hear, but he didn’t need to; he felt her knee slam into his ribs, and then she was rolling away, legs tangling in the sheets.</p><p>“Nat,” he said out loud, unsure how loud he was actually being. He sat up, fumbling for the lamp switch, and felt her fist connect with the centre of his spine. He turned and reached out, finding her wrist. “Wait—”</p><p>It was the wrong thing to do, and he mentally cursed himself as she struck out at him again. He let her wrist drop and finally found the switch for the lamp, flicking it and letting the room flood with its dim light. Natasha was halfway out of the bed, eyes wild, when the door suddenly flew open.</p><p>“Stop!” Clint said, throwing his hands out towards Coulson and the gun he had pointed into the room. “Ears.”</p><p>Coulson lowered the gun and said something. Natasha was on the floor; he could see the top of her head from his spot on the bed, and desperately reached for his aids so he could better understand what was happening. His heart was still racing from his nightmare, but now he felt like it might explode out of his chest from adrenaline.</p><p>“Easy,” Coulson was saying, voice so soft that it took a minute for any of the sound to filter through Clint’s aids. “It’s okay, Natasha. The gun isn’t here anymore.”</p><p>“What happened?” Clint asked. He spotted Georgia behind Coulson, poking her head over his shoulder to check on Natasha, and frowned. “I had a bad dream.”</p><p>“We heard Natasha scream,” Georgia said carefully. “I think she had a bad dream, too.”</p><p>“Or I scared her,” Clint said slowly. He pulled himself out of the bed, goose bumps rising on his arms and exposed chest as the cold night air met his skin. “I grabbed her.”</p><p>Natasha was curled into herself, hands over her head to protect it from a blow she was obviously expecting. She rocked herself, whimpering when Clint sat beside her. She had no way to escape, and he almost asked Coulson and Georgia to leave. They were supposed to be a team, though, and he doubted they would do anything to make the situation worse.</p><p>“Hey, Tasha,” Clint said gently. “Can you hear me? It’s Clint.”</p><p>He wasn’t expecting a response, so the sound of her muffled voice surprised him. “Clint?”</p><p>“Yea, love,” he said, aching to touch her but keeping his hand open between their bodies instead. “I’m here. You’re safe, okay? Georgia and Coulson are here too, and they won’t let anything happen to us.”</p><p>Natasha shuddered, though he wasn’t sure if it was from fear or the icy air. Her hands bunched into her hair but she didn’t pull it, only flinching when the floorboards creaked under Georgia’s feet. She crouched carefully beside Clint and gave his arm a gentle squeeze before she left her hands on her thighs in clear view.</p><p>“You’re safe,” Georgia reiterated. “It was just a bad dream.”</p><p>“Bad dream,” Natasha repeated. “Is dark.”</p><p>“I know,” Clint said. “But you’re not there. I turned the light on. Have a look.”</p><p>Natasha peaked out from around her arms, eyes flickering around the room before they landed on Coulson in the doorway. She drew in a sharp breath and shook her head fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut, but Clint realised what she was about to do a second too late. Without warning, she slammed her head against the bedside table, hard enough to split the skin above her eyebrow; Clint reached for her, pulling her towards him by her arms and wrapping himself around her before she could do it again.</p><p>To his surprise, Natasha didn’t fight him. She let her head fall to his shoulder, glassy eyes staring at the wall. Georgia said something to Coulson about getting a band aid and ice pack but he tuned them both out, focusing his attention on the scared girl in his arms.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he told her. “You’re safe, Tasha. Don’t hurt yourself.”</p><p>“Home,” she said. “Is bad dream.”</p><p>“I had a bad dream too,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he rocked them. “But it’s not real, cause I can feel you here with me. I know you’re okay. Can you feel me?”</p><p>Natasha’s hand wormed its way between their bodies, palm flattening against his chest. “I feel you.”</p><p>“Good,” he said. “I’m here. We’re okay.”</p><p>“We’re in a safe house in Mississippi,” Georgia said. “Coulson, myself, Clint, and you. We’ve been here for just over a month. You like feeding the chickens and helping me in the garden.”</p><p>“Me,” Natasha murmured. She continued to stare at the wall, her right arm draped loosely around Clint’s neck. “I don’t know.”</p><p>Clint tightened his own grip around her, rubbing her back as he met Georgia’s gaze. Natasha had only just told the three of them what she had hinted at to Clint that day in the front yard, and he had been silently worrying about her ever since. She wasn’t sure that she was always in control anymore, scared that there was a part of her that would always be able to be used against her. It had taken more than she had to give to disclose her fears, and it had only been a week but they were already dealing with the aftermath.</p><p>“You’re Tasha,” Clint recited. “You know seven languages. You have a doll called Yulia and a shocking sweet tooth. You escaped. You’re building a new life for yourself.”</p><p>Natasha nodded. “Okay.”</p><p>By the time Coulson came back with the ice pack Natasha was a dead weight in Clint’s arm, eyes twitching beneath her lids. He carefully pressed a band aid over the small cut on her forehead and pulled the doona from the bed to drape over them. Clint didn’t even know what time it was, but it was clearly late if Coulson was trying to make a bed out of the ground for them.</p><p>“You warned us,” Georgia said, letting her head fall back against the wall. “I’ve seen a lot of nightmares, but the person doesn’t usually take so long to come out of it.”</p><p>Clint sighed. “That was quick. I’ve sat with her for over an hour before.”</p><p>“You said you had a bad dream, too,” Georgia said. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“I was trying to reach Nat, but every time I got closer to her, she would get hurt.” Clint drew in a deep breath, trying to clear the image from his head. “But I couldn’t leave her alone with him again.”</p><p>“Him being…”</p><p>“Ivan,” Clint spat. “It all leads back to him. I should have put an arrow through his head a lot sooner than I did.”</p><p>“You were sixteen,” Georgia said softly. “That’s an insane amount of pressure for an adult to deal with, let alone a teenage boy. None of what happened to Natasha was your fault, Clint, nor was it your responsibility.”</p><p>“Just sucks,” he said. Natasha’s hand fell from his chest and she whimpered in her sleep, so he found her wrist and gently closed his fingers around it. “You should sleep, Georgia.”</p><p>She gave him a small smile. “You gonna be okay on the floor all night?”</p><p>“We’ll probably move later,” he replied. “If she doesn’t wake up herself I’ll do it, but usually after something like that she doesn’t get much sleep at all.”</p><p>“Okay,” Georgia conceded. “Yell if you need us. Keep an eye on that bump on her head, too.”</p><p>“Will do,” he assured her. “Night.”</p><p>Georgia shut the door behind her, leaving the lamp on. Clint was too tired to care; he pressed a kiss to Natasha’s band aid and then leant back against the wall himself, afraid to close his eyes but more worried about what he might think whilst waiting for the sun to rise.</p><hr/><p>Clint stepped over Georgia’s body carefully, smiling softly to himself at the sight of her curled up on the other side of their bedroom door with a blanket. He hadn’t expected her to camp outside for the whole night, but she was full of surprises and certainly had a soft spot for them. He followed the smell of bacon down the stairs and found Coulson perusing the meal plan that had been made for Natasha.</p><p>“Morning,” Clint said.</p><p>Coulson smiled and held out a mug of coffee. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”</p><p>“We made it back into bed,” Clint said, taking a sip of his drink. He closed his eyes in bliss, then held the cup up towards the roof. “This is perfect.”</p><p>“I’m glad,” Coulson laughed. “When the girls get up I have somewhere I’d like to take everyone.”</p><p>Clint snagged a piece of bacon out of the pan. “Sure. Any clues?”</p><p>“Horse riding,” Coulson said. “Or hiking. I’m trying to decide whether introducing Natasha to a large animal is the right thing to do after last night.”</p><p>“She would like it,” Clint agreed. “But last night was rough. If there were other people there she wouldn’t be able to relax.”</p><p>“Hiking it is then.”</p><p>“Hiking?” A bleary, sleep-laced voice asked. Clint turned to see Georgia standing in the doorway, blanket held tight around her shoulders and hair a halo of knots around her head. “Now?”</p><p>“Don’t panic, Agent,” Coulson laughed. “We’re going hiking later. I thought it might be nice for everyone to clear their heads.”</p><p>“Head is already clear.”</p><p>Natasha appeared behind Georgia, forehead slightly crumpled as she surveyed the scene in the kitchen. She caught a glimpse of her reflection on the side of the toaster and carefully brought her hand to poke at the lump above her eyebrow, barely containing her wince. Clint smiled at her softly, putting his mug down so he could sign.</p><p>
  <em>How are you feeling?</em>
</p><p><em>Fine</em>, she replied automatically, then shrugged. <em>I’m foggy. That scares me</em>.</p><p>Clint didn’t bother reminding her that she had just told them her head was clear. <em>Want to talk about it?</em></p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>“Secret sign time is over,” Georgia said, rubbing at her eyes. “You only have one left for the rest of the day.”</p><p>Natasha rolled her eyes. “I want to go.”</p><p>“We can’t go anywhere until everyone’s had breakfast,” Coulson said patiently. “Then we need to get ready for hiking.”</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” Natasha said. “I want to go back.”</p><p>“What?” Clint asked. “Tasha, we still have a couple of weeks here.”</p><p>“We’re in no rush,” Georgia assured her. “Nightmares happen, Nat. It doesn’t change anything. You still have time.”</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” Natasha snapped. “I want to go. Is not working. Head is all wrong and everything is too much.”</p><p>“We thought you liked it here,” Coulson said carefully. “If we go back to S.H.I.E.L.D, the Council will want to see immediate results. I’m not sure Georgia can sign off on anything yet.”</p><p>“I can’t,” Georgia said truthfully. “If we go back, things will change. They might not let me work with you anymore. There are… other techniques that S.H.I.E.L.D has used in the past to deal with trauma that—”</p><p>“I want to try,” Natasha said.</p><p>Clint felt his stomach drop. “Tasha, it’s not like this. This is nice, yea? Why don’t we just hold out a little longer.”</p><p>“I know S.H.I.E.L.D can take away,” Natasha said, folding her arms across her chest. “I want gone. I want memories gone. Let them take. I don’t care how. I don’t want it.”</p><p>Desperation crawled up the back of Clint’s throat as he watched the determination flicker across Natasha’s face. The whole point of coming to the safe house was to let Natasha learn about her own emotions, to show her that there was nothing wrong with being scared or sad or angry. They wanted her to work through some of her traumas in a safe environment; talking about things rather than suppressing them, understanding that the things that had happened to her were wrong but not her fault.</p><p>They didn’t want the Council to step in again, because even though nobody had said anything, Clint thought that he knew from the look on Georgia’s face. They wouldn’t let her take her time, they wouldn’t see anything other than another weapon they could control with a snap of their fingers. They would use any means necessary to get what they wanted, and Natasha would never be able to eat cereal from a bowl for fear of triggering a flashback.</p><p>Her mind was made up though, Clint could tell just by looking at her. “I don’t want to live like this.”</p><p>“Tasha—” He said, taking a step towards her.</p><p>“Take out,” she said seriously, voice steely and eyes cold. “Take out or I do. I am tired of being me. Take out or I run.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>oh hey back with a quick chapter bc this will not leave me alone and maybe i'm self-projecting who knows N E WAY!! obviously not everything is fixed yet but idk it's a start and i also just wanted to bring dom back bc i love all my little side characters okay 🥺🥺</p><p>i am not a therapist and don't know much about therapy so just remember that lmao (i basically just write what i think would work for nat in this fic specifically) i hope you enjoy it!! it's late so goodnight 💕</p><p>leave a comment if you like!! stay happy and healthy loves ❤️❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The minutes ticked by achingly slowly. Clint kept his eyes on the clock, ignoring Georgia tapping away on her laptop across from him. He didn’t even know <em>what</em> they were waiting for, just that Coulson had told them to be awake early; Clint had been up since dawn, creeping past Natasha and down the stairs hours before anyone else had stirred. He was nervous. It had barely been twenty-four hours since Natasha’s request.</p><p>Georgia sighed and rolled her shoulders back. “I’m going to have a shower.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clint said, eyes darting away from the clock. “What if something happens when—”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Georgia said softly. She closed her laptop and squeezed his shoulder as she walked past him out of the kitchen. “No one is going anywhere.”</p><p>Clint watched as she by-passed into the living room, stopping in front of where Natasha sat stoically on the couch to whisper something only she could hear. It didn’t change the look on her face, a look that sent chills down Clint’s spine every time he saw it. She had worn it for the first time on a gravel road a lifetime ago, back when she couldn’t remember where his features fit in the gaping abyss that was her memory.</p><p>He barely waited for Georgia to leave before he was following in her footsteps, taking a seat beside Natasha. “Do you think we should leave?”</p><p>“Why?” She asked.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to check the window out of habit. “What could Coulson need us all for?”</p><p>“Stupid meeting?” Natasha guessed, then shrugged. “Get me out of here?”</p><p>“Stop,” Clint snapped, looking back at her. “Don’t talk about that.”</p><p>“Is what I want,” she told him. “I want out.”</p><p>Clint clenched his hands into fists, trying to fight the rolling wave of anxiety that crashed over him. “Stop saying that. Just think about—”</p><p>“Is nothing to think of,” Natasha said coolly. “I go.”</p><p>“No!” Clint shouted, immediately regretting it but unable to stop now that he had started. “God, Natasha, think about what you’re doing. Georgia and Coulson risked everything to bring you here and you’re throwing it back in their faces.”</p><p>“I have no choice,” Natasha snarled. “They bring me. I just want to do job like am trained for.”</p><p>“That’s not true,” he said. “You wanted them to help you, so the Red Room didn’t have control anymore. Think of—”</p><p>“Think of me!” Natasha cried, reaching out and shoving his chest. “I want to—”</p><p>“Think of me!” Clint stood, clenching his shaking hands into fists by his side. Natasha stood too, toe to toe with him, eyes blazing with fury. “All I want is the best for you, Natasha. I’m trying to help. Can’t you see that? We’re a team, okay, and this isn’t just about you leaving. It’s about me leaving too.”</p><p>“You do what you want,” she muttered. “Maybe we are better apart.”</p><p>Clint sat heavily back on the couch, feeling his heart stutter in his chest as the weight of her words sank in. He didn’t think she meant it, only because Natasha hadn’t been acting like herself for days now and he knew her better than he even knew himself; still, there was a part of him that had to believe it, and that was the part that scared him.</p><p>“Are you trying to break up with me?” He asked carefully.</p><p>Natasha opened her mouth to answer, then turned her head, shoulders tensing as she looked out the window. Clint followed her gaze and watched a car approach the house slowly, windows tinted so that it was difficult to make out who was driving. He wanted to reach for her, but wasn’t sure she would let him.</p><p>“Who?” She said, eyes narrowing. “Is S.H.I.E.L.D?”</p><p>“It’s Agent Lane,” Coulson said from behind them. Clint didn’t ask how long he had been standing there for. “I asked her to come.”</p><p>Natasha turned her glare to Coulson. “You are supposed to make me go.”</p><p>“You wanted S.H.I.E.L.D techniques, you’ll get them,” Coulson shrugged. “Agent Lane is often asked to help train new recruits.”</p><p>Clint didn’t understand what that had to do with Natasha’s request, but it beat the alternative of her being whisked away into a deep corner of S.H.I.E.L.D by their superiors. At least Dom was on their side, and could try and talk some sense into Natasha. He didn’t want her going anywhere near S.H.I.E.L.D until they were sure she was in control.</p><p>“What an interesting turn of events,” Georgia commented, appearing in the doorway with her hair wrapped in a towel. She raised an eyebrow at Coulson. “What did I miss?”</p><p>“Agent Lane is tasked with training recruits,” Coulson repeated easily. “Natasha wants to be treated like an agent.”</p><p>“I want to take memory away,” Natasha snapped. “I want them to turn off.”</p><p>Coulson’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Maybe Agent Lane can help with that, too.”</p><p>Dom let herself into the house, dropping a duffel bag by the front door and finding them easily enough in the living room. Clint hadn’t seen her since the day in the gym, though she didn’t seem to have any reservations about Natasha. She grinned at him and he smiled back, feeling some of his nerves settle in the wake of her familiarity.</p><p>“Nice to see you, Dominque,” Georgia said, breaking the silence.</p><p>Dom laughed. “Glad to see you got dressed up for me, Georgie.”</p><p>“Breakfast, Agent?” Coulson asked, ever hospitable. He gestured to the kitchen, where a pot of coffee and a plate of toast had appeared on the table. Clint felt his ears warm as he realised that Coulson would have heard his whole argument with Natasha. “We have fresh eggs.”</p><p>“No thank you,” Dom replied. She pointed a finger at Natasha. “You. Get your shoes on.”</p><p>Natasha frowned. “Why?”</p><p>“Because I said so,” Dom said, and Clint automatically bristled at her tone. It had the desired effect; Natasha stood and left to get her shoes without another word. “Calm down, Barton.”</p><p>“You can’t order her around,” he said lowly, looking to Georgia for backup. “She spent her whole life being ordered around, and we’re trying to get her to realise it’s wrong.”</p><p>“You laid the foundations,” Dom said carefully. “I’m ripping them down. Hopefully at the end of it all she’ll realise what you’ve been trying to tell her along: she’s her own person, first, last and always.”</p><p>“It might work,” Georgia admitted. “Though I’m not sure I support this tactic.”</p><p>Dom shrugged. “You don’t have to. Coulson told me she wants a wipe. This is the intervention before that becomes set in stone. I don’t like it either, but sometimes reverse psychology works.”</p><p>“You spent so long gaining her trust,” Georgia said softly. “This could ruin that, Dominque.”</p><p>“It’s worth it,” Dom said fiercely. “Anything is worth a try to get our girl back.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clint heard himself say. He knew they didn’t need his permission, but he was glad that Dom had explained it. He felt calmer, knowing that this might stop Natasha from following through with her threat to go to S.H.I.E.L.D. “Okay, sounds good.”</p><p>“What is good?” Natasha asked hesitantly from the foot of the stairs. She was hiding it well, but Clint could see that she was wary of what was happening. It was the first time she hadn’t been in control all month, and he knew it wouldn’t be an easy adjustment to make.</p><p>“Nothing,” Dom said, then led the way over to the door. “Let’s go. We have a lot of work to do.”</p><hr/><p>Clint winced as Natasha passed them on yet another lap of the property, barely even glancing in their direction as she kept up the quick pace Dom had set. He couldn’t imagine how tired she was, but everyone had assured him that <em>something </em>about what Dom was doing might be beneficial, even though it didn’t seem like it.</p><p>“We’re hoping she’ll realise that having control over her emotions is more important than the memories she struggles with,” Georgia told him. “The memories are just memories, and they’re hard, for sure. But they can’t hurt her if she learns to control them.”</p><p>“So what? She’s supposed to run until she changes her mind?”</p><p>Georgia leant back on her elbows. “I think Nat has a lot of pent up anger. We know from experience that strenuous activity helps her channel that. What we’re hoping for is some kind of emotional catharsis.”</p><p>“I thought she was getting better,” Clint whispered. “In therapy, she was doing so well. And then everything went downhill.”</p><p>“I expected some kind of crash,” Georgia said. “Nobody walks out of therapy healed. Plus, there’s still the issues of tackling some of her bigger triggers. Gesundheit may never fully leave her subconscious. We take the small victories before we conquer the mountain.”</p><p>Natasha appeared again, stopping so she could double over and suck in deep breaths of air. Dom stood from where she was kicking her feet on the swing and made her way over; Natasha flinched, looking like she might start running again, and Clint felt something heavy settle in his stomach.</p><p>“<em>Izvinite,</em>” Natasha said. “I need break.”</p><p>“Did you tell your trainers in the Red Room that you needed a break?” Dom asked, and at Natasha’s slow shake of her head she crossed her arms over her chest. “What makes you think you can tell me?”</p><p>Natasha hesitated. “Is not same.”</p><p>“Really? Because you know who’s in control here, right?”</p><p>Her eyes flicked over to Georgia, and Dom clicked her fingers in Natasha’s face to regain her attention. She was tense; Clint could tell that she was confused, unsure which side of her mind she should trust. He wanted to sign to her, do anything to prove to her that Dom was safe. Georgia put her hand on his arm, as though she had read his mind.</p><p>“You?” Natasha tried.</p><p>Dom snorted. “Don’t ask me, agent. Tell me. Who is in control?”</p><p>“Me,” Natasha said softly, bowing her head. “I don’t—It feel like someone else is in head.”</p><p>Dom met Georgia’s gaze, and some kind of silent communication seemed to pass between them. Natasha kept her hands curled into fists by her side, head down. He hadn’t seen her look like that for so long that it took his breath away, and not in a good way.</p><p>“More laps,” Dom said eventually. “Until you can tell me who is in control and mean it.”</p><p>Natasha took a deep breath and then started running again, not questioning any of them. Coulson sat on Clint’s other side and offered him a sandwich, but he didn’t have the stomach to take it. Not when Natasha hadn’t had a full break since the breakfast Dom had eaten with her after wherever they had hiked to that morning.</p><p>The sun was slowly sinking the next time Natasha stopped in front of them. Her shaky legs held her up for just long enough to actually stop before they crumpled beneath her, and then she sat on the ground, heaving, head tilted up to the sky and hair stuck to her temples in sweaty strands.</p><p>“You got a clear answer for me?” Dom asked, crouching beside her. “I really don’t want to do this all night.”</p><p>“Me,” Natasha said, voice gruff. “I am in control.”</p><p>“Fine. Wanna explain what you mean when you say someone else is in your head?”</p><p>Natasha glanced over at him, and he gave her a tiny wave, trying to reassure her. The edge to her that he had seen over the last week seemed to have dulled, and now she just smiled at him shyly. It was a start, and more than he expected after their argument that morning.</p><p>“Is part of me,” Natasha said. “Scary part. Sometime I think she take over and I hurt everyone.”</p><p>“Would you?” Dom asked. “Would you let that happen?”</p><p>“I have no choice,” Natasha started to say, but Dom held a hand up to interrupt her.</p><p>“You just told me that you’re in control.”</p><p>Natasha huffed. “Everyone say is not my fault. But sometimes I let them. Sometimes is <em>easier</em>.”</p><p>Clint kicked himself for not realising that she had told him this before; back when they had only just uncovered the part of her that reacted to a word like she’d been shocked, back when it was just her and him and Chase, and a piece of paper with question marks was their biggest problem.</p><p>Georgia stood from beside him and carefully made her way over to Natasha, sitting cross-legged beside her. Clint followed, letting himself fall into the dirt directly opposite her so she could talk to him instead of the air. Palms up on his thighs, he waited, hoping that she understood what they were trying to tell her.</p><p>“It was easier to lose the memory than live with the pain?” Georgia asked softly.</p><p>“<em>Da</em>,” Natasha gasped. “I let them. I don’t want to remember so I let them use me. I am monster.”</p><p>“No,” Clint said. “Never. You had no choice, even if it felt like you did. There’s a difference.”</p><p>“We’re giving you the choice, Natasha,” Georgia said. “Trust us.”</p><p>“I have nightmare and I don’t…” She breathed in deeply, fighting tears that Clint could see gathering behind her lashes. “I don’t know who I am. How you live with that?”</p><p>“Easy,” Clint whispered, realising she was talking to him and only him. “I just do.”</p><p>“How I live with that?”</p><p>“You let us help you,” Georgia said. “Let us care for you, Nat. You’re our friend. One day you’ll wake up and none of these things will be on your mind. You’ll just wonder what your day will be like.”</p><p>“And it will be perfectly ordinary,” Dom added. “Well, as ordinary as S.H.I.E.L.D can get.”</p><p>Clint sagged in relief when Natasha’s hand found his, and then he let her pull herself forward until she was sitting in his lap, legs on either side of his hips and face pressed to his chest. He held her tightly, didn’t feel her cry but knew she would tonight. None of it mattered, because it felt like they were finally on the same page.</p><p>It would take more than running laps to help her, and Clint knew that. It had helped, though, and maybe it would help when they went back, too. They had triggers and fears and issues with control that was greater than just the inability to make a decision, but they also had this: love and a new family, Georgia and Coulson and Dom.</p><p>“I don’t want to break up,” Natasha murmured. “I love you.”</p><p>Clint laughed and curled his hand into her hair. “Good, cause I love you too, Tasha.”</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>helloooo welcome back to another update!! hope everyone is safe and well and happy!! thank u for ur support i appreciate you all so much 😭</p><p>some warnings for this chapter: reference to past non-con and suicidal thoughts. pls take care of yourselves first ❤️</p><p>leave a comment if you like!! things are slowly rolling forward which is exciting!! i love u and goodnight 🥰🥰</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>April</strong>
</p><p>The last day on the farm was spent hiking with Dom and cleaning out the rest of the barn, accepting glasses of lemonade from Coulson as the sun sunk slowly behind the mountains. The air was fresh and the night cool; as the sky became peppered with stars, Clint knocked his head against Natasha’s and let her hand find his between their bodies, relishing in the last moments of calm before they went back to the chaos of S.H.I.E.L.D.</p><p>After dinner he followed Natasha into the living room for therapy with Georgia, carrying two bowls of vanilla ice cream that he placed on the coffee table in front of them once they were comfortable. Natasha stared at it for a moment, then pulled her knees to her chest and tucked her toes under his thigh. He smiled at her softly, trying to come across as reassuring.</p><p>“Did you have a nice last day?” Georgia asked, pulling out the notebook that they had seen more often than not over the last month and a half. It put Natasha on edge, which in turn put Clint on edge, even though Georgia had assured them that they would know if something she was writing was serious.</p><p>Natasha shrugged. “Is okay. I want to go back.”</p><p>“Why do you want to go back?”</p><p>“To work,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes. “To do good thing. Is why Coulson let us stay.”</p><p>Georgia tilted her head. “Does any part of your desire to go back stem from your previous beliefs that S.H.I.E.L.D has technology to destabilise your triggers much quicker than therapy would?”</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” Natasha replied firmly. “I am in control. Healing…takes time.”</p><p>The words sounded stilted, though Clint didn’t dwell on it. Georgia didn’t seem to be concerned about Natasha’s tone and that was all the assurance he needed. There had been many times over the last few weeks that Georgia had pulled Natasha up on degrading things she said about herself, and it was still slow-going. Like most things with Natasha, the roots were buried deep; yanking on them either did nothing at all or broke the stem, and he was tired of watching her cry.</p><p>Coulson had extended their stay on the farm after Dom’s arrival, and it had been some of the hardest days of their lives, working painstakingly slowly towards an end goal that hadn’t seemed possible at the time. Dom had stayed, and Natasha had worked hard with both her and Georgia to at least <em>try</em>. There were days she had screamed, days she had threatened to disappear overnight without leaving a trace of her behind; Clint had sat awake for hours, watching her sleep, trying to convince himself that she wasn’t going anywhere.</p><p>There hadn’t been a breakthrough. None of them were confident in saying that Natasha was healed, but the consensus was that she was ready and able to work in the field now. Georgia trusted her, and Dom was happy with her physical progress, so Coulson had no choice but to send them back to D.C. Clint was excited, too; he had celebrated his nineteenth birthday with a cake that Natasha helped Georgia bake, but all of his presents were waiting for him back at S.H.I.E.L.D.</p><p>“That’s right,” Georgia confirmed. “And you’ve already made great progress. Can you try the spoon for me?”</p><p>Natasha eyed the bowl of ice cream warily, then carefully leant over so she could pick up the spoon and knock it against the ceramic. The sound made her flinch, fingers tightening around the metal, but it didn’t make her descend into pure panic anymore. They were calling them small victories, even though they felt huge to Clint.</p><p>“How did that make you feel?” Georgia asked.</p><p>“Sick,” Natasha muttered, voice strained. “Head is fuzzy, but I know I am here.”</p><p>“That’s good, Tash,” Clint said, taking her hand when she let the spoon clatter back into the bowl. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles and watched some of the tension leave her shoulders. “Pinch me if it gets too much.”</p><p>“About that,” Georgia said, surprising him. “I’d like to introduce something new. I heard you guys had a little hiccup the other night?”</p><p>Clint felt heat rise to his cheeks, but Natasha stared the other woman down. “With sex?”</p><p>“Yes,” Georgia said. “We don’t have to talk about it. I just want to propose something that might help in situations like that.”</p><p>“I panic,” Natasha said, brow furrowed. “Clint stop. It happen before. Sometime it happen when we spar, or just because. I don’t know why.”</p><p>“You were assaulted at quite a young age, Natasha,” Georgia said softly. “Your mind sometimes can’t differentiate between now and then.”</p><p>“We always talk about it,” Clint said awkwardly. “We don’t do anything she doesn’t wanna do.”</p><p>Georgia smiled. “I know. But I still think the implementation of a safe word would be beneficial in a number of scenarios.”</p><p>“Safe word?” Natasha looked to him first, confusion evident on her features. “What is?”</p><p>“It’s a word that will allow you to pause whatever you’re engaging in,” Georgia explained. “It’s a way for you to let Clint know that you need to stop. This doesn’t have to be used just when you’re having sex, okay? You can use it in sparring, or if the conversation is especially triggering. It’s not an excuse. It’s something that we’ll all take very seriously.”</p><p>“What do people usually use?” Clint asked.</p><p>“The traffic light method is quite common. Yellow for slow down, red for stop.”</p><p>Natasha shook her head. “Not red. Is so much red already.”</p><p>“Plus, Chase calls her Red sometimes,” Clint added. “What about a different colour? Purple?”</p><p>“Lilac,” Natasha said, lips tugging up at the corners. “I read in Harry Potter. And is almost your best colour.”</p><p>“Yea, it’s pretty close to my favourite,” Clint laughed. “Lilac then. I guess we could give it a go.”</p><p>“That’s great,” Georgia said enthusiastically. “I’ll pass it on to Dom and Coulson, in case you ever feel the need to use it around them. Remember, this is for you, Nat. We want you to feel safe.”</p><p>“I heard my name,” Dom suddenly said, jumping down the last step on the stair case and leaning against the doorframe. “You’re not telling them my deepest, darkest secrets are you, Georgie?”</p><p>“In or out?” Georgia asked, rolling her eyes playfully as Dom sat herself down heavily in the last available chair in the room. “We were in the middle of something, Dominque.”</p><p>“Let them enjoy their last night of freedom.” Dom reached over to playfully flip Georgia’s notebook shut, grinning cheekily. “Besides, the Princess Diaries is about to come on. You love that movie.”</p><p>“Fine,” Georgia relented, shaking her head. “You guys are free. I’ll see you in the morning. We don’t leave until lunch, okay?”</p><p>Natasha was up and off the couch before Georgia had finished speaking, so Clint followed, pushing the bowls of semi-melted ice cream across the table to their friends. Dom winked at him as she accepted the bowl, and then she started teasing Georgia again, the sounds of their voices fading the closer he got to the stairs. He took them two at a time and found Natasha waiting for him by the bathroom door, holding a towel out to him.</p><p>“Bath?” She asked.</p><p>Clint grinned. “Obviously.”</p><hr/><p>The bath had become their safe haven, after the initial hesitation on Natasha’s part wore off. It had hurt to realise that something as simple as a tub filled with water was a trigger for her, but they had been slowly working through the panic that overcame her every time she sat in the water. Now, she could mostly lie against his chest and relax enough to call it enjoyable, though the fear still thrummed beneath her skin.</p><p>The room smelt of lavender soap. Steam drifted through the air, and he sighed as Natasha shifted to bring her ear closer to his heart. The sound of the water sloshing had her digging her nails into his thighs, so he gently rubbed the underside of her wrist, breathing deeply so she could copy the movement.</p><p>“Am okay,” she whispered after a beat, releasing her death grip on him. “<em>Izvinite</em>.”</p><p>“No sorry needed,” Clint told her, and they fell into a sleepy kind of silence again.</p><p>Clint was only a little worried about going back to S.H.I.E.L.D, if only because it meant he wouldn’t be allowed to see as much of Natasha as he had been. Coulson had assured him that they wouldn’t be forced apart, though from his past experience with the Council he didn’t have much faith. He didn’t know the details, but Maria had told him before they left for the farm that there were rumours Fury might form a new Strike Team for them.</p><p>Natasha was ready to be an agent, and Georgia had already given Fury the heads-up that they would be returning with the intention that she be started immediately in field work. Clint was happy for her; he would always be happy for her, and proud of her achievements. There was something he had noticed, though, subtle as it was, but he knew Natasha better than anyone else and it had been eating at him for weeks now.</p><p>“How long have you been faking it for?”</p><p>To her credit, Natasha didn’t play dumb. “For as long as Dom is here.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Is too hard, Clint,” Natasha said. “I try, and am still trying. But I go nowhere. And then I never get to normal. Is easier to turn off and be someone else.”</p><p>Clint frowned. “Who’s the someone else?”</p><p>“Maybe Natalia,” she said, shrugging slightly. “I don’t know. She is not me. She is not scared and stupid.”</p><p>“You’re not stupid, Tasha,” Clint said carefully. “Is this healthy? Should you be doing this?”</p><p>“Is fine,” she said automatically. Her hand found his and she brought their entwined fingers up to rest on her belly. “Some things help. Spoon is real. Bath is real.”</p><p>“What about the words?”</p><p>Georgia hadn’t attempted to touch the trigger words that programmed Natasha into a mindless, robotic assassin, but she had tried her best with some of the others. Words like <em>leto</em> and <em>barkhat</em> and, disturbingly, <em>soplyak</em>, which had her trying to undress herself. The reactions, whilst unpleasant, weren’t nearly as strong; she often crawled into bed that night shaky and ill, clutching him to her as though he was the only thing holding her on Earth.</p><p>“I turn off,” she repeated. “I go to bed and deal with then.”</p><p>“Natasha!” Clint exclaimed, unable to hide his shock. “You’ve been coming to bed not knowing if you can hold on to reality? What if something happened?”</p><p>“I not kill you,” she snapped, turning her head so he could see her glare. “Who you think I am?”</p><p>“No, Nat,” he said softly, trying to get her to see his point. “One of those words you’ve been working on with Georgia makes you… It makes you seduce people. You realise how fucked up that is, right? What if you came to bed and the lines were too blurry and I didn’t realise?”</p><p>She was quiet for a long moment, staring resolutely at the rippling water around their bodies. Then, she shook her head, letting herself fall heavily against his chest again. “I not think. I am sorry, Clint.”</p><p>He swallowed the lump in his throat and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “It’s okay. Just—please, <em>please</em>, don’t hide these things from me. I won't tell Georgia or Coulson unless you ask me to. But I need to know.”</p><p>“<em>Da</em>,” she said. “I am scared they realise and then I wait again. I am okay.”</p><p>“You’re surviving,” Clint said. “That’s something.”</p><p>Natasha turned around fully in his arms, lying chest to chest with him. The ends of her hair were wet and her skin smelt floral and sweet; he leant in to kiss her slowly, careful of her limits. She brought a hand up to cup his cheek and he could feel her smile against his lips.</p><p>“Remember I tell you I want to die?”</p><p>Clint opened his eyes, searching Natasha’s for any clue about what she was thinking. “Yea, it’s kinda hard to forget.”</p><p>“I tell you I am good actor. Is like that, now.”</p><p>“Don’t go anywhere, okay, Tasha?” Clint said, brushing a thumb over the apple of her cheek. He felt his eyes burn and didn’t fight the tears that slowly dripped off his chin. “Stay with me.”</p><p>“<em>Ya lyublyu tebya</em>,” she whispered. “Help me find me.”</p><p>“Always,” he promised her, extending his thumb, index and pinkie finger towards her. She pressed her lips to his bent middle fingers and copied the sign, her hand over his heart. “For you, Tasha, always.”</p><hr/><p>It was past midnight when they dragged themselves out of the bath, both too exhausted to do anything other than fall into bed in a heap. The house was dark and quiet; Clint would miss the stillness, even though he could take his aids out whenever he wanted and experience the same kind of quietness. It was more than that, though. It was a safe place, a place where nothing was expected of them except that they tried.</p><p>He would miss Natasha, her smiles soft in the dim light, her pyjamas crumpled and her hair frizzy from the bath. He would miss waking up beside her, because he wasn’t naïve enough to think that they would be allowed to share a room. He would miss these kinds of moments, where she laid on his chest, toes poking into his shins, and breathed heavily against his neck.</p><p>“You asleep?” He whispered, stroking his hand up and down her spine.</p><p>She sighed. “Mmmh.”</p><p>“It’s okay, love,” he said. “I’ve got you.”</p><p>“I know,” she mumbled, opening one eye lazily to look at him. “Will you hold?”</p><p>There was one part of Natasha’s programming that Georgia hadn’t been able to crack at all, and that was her need to be handcuffed to the bed at night. It was so deeply ingrained in her psyche that going cold turkey had made Natasha stay awake for a whole week, scratching her arms to stop herself from drifting off.</p><p>He used his free hand to find her wrist, tightening his fingers to apply the kind of pressure he knew that she needed. “Sleep. We’ve got a big trip tomorrow.”</p><p>“Warm,” Natasha said, eyes closed once more. “Love you. <em>Real</em>. Love you real.”</p><p>“I love you for real too, Tash,” Clint said softly. He took out his hearing aids and then closed his eyes, one hand around her wrist, the other rubbing the small of her back. She fell asleep quickly, and it didn’t take long for Clint to follow her, drifting off into the last peaceful sleep he would know for a long time.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi hello a quick update to distract myself from the shit show of a night i'm having ANYWAY thank you as always for the love on this fic i appreciate you all so much and hope you enjoy this chapter!! </p><p>(ps did ya'll see the new black widow trailer it gave me the wildest idea for this fic so buckle in for chapter 20 and beyond)</p><p>thank you for all the love and comments ❤️ stay safe and healthy!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maria had a file in one hand and a coffee in the other. “Good to see your big head back here, Barton.”</p><p>“Ha ha. So funny,” Clint deadpanned, swiping for the folder. She held it just out of reach and grinned. “Is that for me?”</p><p>“No,” Maria said. “It’s for your scarier half.”</p><p>As if she had been summoned, Natasha appeared out of thin air, plucking the file from Maria’s hand before the agent had even noticed she was there. She smirked at him and stopped at his side, subtly brushing her fingers over his before she flipped the file open. They were back to hiding their relationship within the halls of S.H.I.E.L.D and Clint was fast getting sick of it.</p><p>They hadn’t been back for long; after leaving the farm they had spent two days at Coulson’s apartment, catching up with Chase whilst Georgia had meetings with both Fury and the Council so that she could give them her professional opinion on whether or not Natasha was fit for field work. There were still concerns, Clint knew that, but he was hoping they could give her the all clear so that she could at least feel like she was doing something useful.</p><p>Now that Natasha was mostly pretending to be okay, Clint had noticed that it seemed to be having a more positive effect on her than most of the therapy sessions had. It wasn’t Georgia’s fault, and he knew that too; it was just easier for Natasha to switch off until they found a way to deprogram the more severe triggers, and he wasn’t going to take her little secret away from her unless he had good reason to.</p><p>“Romanoff,” Maria said stiffly, sipping her coffee. “Good to see you.”</p><p>“Hill,” Natasha mimicked. “You are not happy.”</p><p>“It’s no skin off my back if you go crazy again,” Maria said. “Although I will be pissed if I’m the one you hit.”</p><p>“I am better,” Natasha retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Georgia say so. I am better to go out on missions.”</p><p>“I know. That’s your first mission debrief in the folder.”</p><p>Natasha immediately opened the file and left them, walking into the conference room so she could sit down and go through what needed to be done. She had her own S.H.I.E.L.D uniform now, one that actually <em>fit</em>, and it made Clint’s heart soar to see the pride on her face every time she caught a glimpse of herself in an office window.</p><p>“Where’s mine?” Clint asked.</p><p>Maria shook her head. “You’re not on this mission. Order came from Fury less than five minutes ago. She was <em>just </em>cleared.”</p><p>“Just?” Clint said, looking back in to where Natasha was taking notes. “Why just?”</p><p>“I don’t know everything, Barton,” Maria scoffed. “Get your ass in there before Coulson and her team gets here or else they won’t let you in.”</p><p>“Thanks Maria,” Clint said sincerely. “And it’s good to see you, too.”</p><p>Maria smiled and left, so Clint went back into the conference room and pulled out the chair beside Natasha. She glanced at him briefly and smiled, then went back to her notes with a type of concentration Clint hadn’t seen since they were doing homework at school together.</p><p>“Anything exciting?” He asked her.</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>. Is easy. I can do with just me.”</p><p>“It’s more like a test, I guess,” Clint mused. “See if you can work with a team or something. See if anything bad happens. Coulson should be over the comms, so if things start getting bad just give him the safe word.”</p><p>“Okay, <em>mum</em>,” Natasha teased, and he playfully shoved her. “I will be fine.”</p><p>“Yea, I know that,” Clint said softly. “I’m just excited for you Tasha. You’ve worked hard to get here.”</p><p>“Not hard enough,” she muttered. “I am just good actor.”</p><p>It still made Clint’s stomach clench to hear her say that, because it brought up memories he would rather forget; the two of them in the shower, Natasha sobbing into his chest, and the two of them in the bath, clinging to their final strands of control. He knew she didn’t mean it that way so he let it go, instead sneaking in for a quick kiss before the room inevitably filled with more agents.</p><p>“Love you,” he told her.</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “You always tell me. Tell me something new.”</p><p>“I’m proud of you,” Clint stated. “Not in a weird way. I’m just proud of you, to be here <em>with </em>you.”</p><p>Natasha leant in and kissed him again, harder and more desperate, and he kissed her back just as fiercely, forgetting for a moment the fact that they were in a building with hundreds of specially trained agents who worked for an organisation with very strict fraternisation rules.</p><p>Somebody cleared their throat in the doorway and they jumped apart, Natasha looking nonplussed but Clint with a faint blush creeping up the back of his neck. Coulson shook his head at them and entered the room properly, taking a seat at the head of the table.</p><p>“You can’t do that here, remember?” He said to them, and Natasha nodded solemnly. “Your team will be here shortly, Natasha. Barton, you should leave.”</p><p>“What?” Clint protested. “I should stay. Maria said I could.”</p><p>“The Council wants to see that Natasha can work with another team,” Coulson explained. “If she can’t, she doesn’t get her clearance.”</p><p>“I am fine with team,” Natasha said. “If I am good I go on Clint’s team?”</p><p>“Hopefully,” Coulson said, then pointed at the door. “Out, Barton.”</p><p>“Fine,” he grumbled, then smiled at Natasha. “Have fun. Don’t shoot the good guys. And stay safe.”</p><p>“Always,” she replied, then signed <em>I love you</em>.</p><p><em>Love you too</em>, Clint signed. <em>I’ll see you in no time at all</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Waiting for Natasha to come back was by far the most frustrating thing that Clint had ever done in his life. Coulson had told him over an hour ago that the jet had landed and they were back on base, but so far there was no sign of Natasha except for the whispers that started up in the halls.</p><p>He was in her room, pacing the small length to keep his mind off <em>why </em>the post-mission debrief was taking so long. His mind supplied him with ideas that he knew wouldn’t be true, but it still made him feel anxious. He even opened the door a few times, glancing back and forth down the hall, but she was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>It was almost two hours later when she finally stumbled in, dirt covering her face but otherwise looking unharmed. Clint pulled her in for a hug and squeezed her so tightly he could feel the imprint of her in his bones. She pulled out of his grip and stripped her new suit off, heading straight to the shower to clean herself, and he was glad to see that there wasn’t any blood on her skin or clothes.</p><p>They were quiet as they moved around each other, not saying anything until Natasha was sitting on her bed between Clint’s legs, letting him brush through her tangled hair. She held his thighs tightly, as though she were afraid he would disappear; he let her, because it had nearly been over forty-two hours since they’d seen each other and he had <em>missed </em>her.</p><p>“How was it?” He asked when the brush was no longer getting caught. “Everything you hoped it would be?”</p><p>“Is different from… training,” Natasha said, then shrugged. “Is not bad. Was easy. They almost all die but I get them out.”</p><p>“What?” Clint said incredulously. “You should’ve led with that when you first got here.”</p><p>“Is stupid mistake,” Natasha muttered. “They are fine. I bring them all home.”</p><p>Clint felt his heart ache at her words, because he knew that one of Natasha’s biggest regrets in life was that she hadn’t been able to get all of the girls out of the Red Room before she tried to destroy it. She wanted them all to have the chance at the life she was living, to make something more of themselves and to cross out some of the marks in the ledger she was supposedly keeping track on.</p><p>“That’s good, Tash,” he said. “Did you like it? Apart from it being easy?”</p><p>“<em>Da</em>,” she said, twisting around so she could sit with her legs on either side of his hips. “How much time we have?”</p><p>Clint shook his head. “Not enough time to—”</p><p>“I want to talk about Yelena,” she whispered. “I want to help her.”</p><p>“Yelena might be a lost cause, Nat,” Clint said carefully. “You remember what you said that night? She’d always go back to them?”</p><p><em>I don’t think so</em>, Natasha replied, switching to sign. <em>I think I could talk her into it.</em></p><p><em>Do you know where she is? </em>Clint asked. <em>Last you told me, she was either at the hospital fire or with you and Madame.</em></p><p>
  <em>Madame made me light the fire. I don’t even know if those girls were training, Clint. I didn’t ask. She said something and I just went blank. Now I think they were just sick kids.</em>
</p><p>Clint leant forward until he could press his forehead against hers, watching as tears made tracks down her cheeks. <em>It’s not your fault, Nat. You didn’t have a choice. But to help Yelena we need to know where she was.</em></p><p><em>She wasn’t at the fire</em>, Natasha said, pulling away from him slightly with wild eyes. “I remember. She is back and she hit me, shake me. She try to help me. She sit with me and tell me stories. She tell me, ‘your boyfriend is cute but stupid’.”</p><p>“Hey!” Clint exclaimed, then couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounds like Yelena. It’ll work out, okay, Tasha? We’re not gonna leave her on her own. But we need to settle in here first.”</p><p>“I know,” Natasha huffed. “I have memory on Quinjet. What is word Georgia use?”</p><p>“Breakthrough,” Clint said absently. “You should tell her this.”</p><p>“Okay,” Natasha agreed. “Will you spar me?”</p><p>“Now?” Clint asked, and when she turned her face up to him and batted her eyelashes he had no choice but to say yes. “Dirty tactics Romanoff. But then we’re getting dinner and terrorising Coulson.”</p><p>She spat on her hand, eyes lit with something he hadn’t seen for years. “Deal.”</p><p>“Deal,” he said, spitting in his own and shaking with her, revelling in the sound of her disgusted scream and the laughter that followed.</p>
<hr/><p>Everyone ignored them in the gym, for which Clint was grateful, though Maria came to have a turn and even managed to pin Natasha once before she yielded. Natasha rolled off Maria and then held her hand out to pull her up, and after a tense second where Clint was convinced she wouldn’t accept her offer, she let herself be yanked to her feet.</p><p>They followed Maria to the cafeteria, and Natasha stood up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I don’t think she stab me anymore.”</p><p>Natasha was still on a strict meal plan, and even though it was pizza night Clint bypassed it in favour of having whatever she was having. They ate with Maria, and he couldn’t help but be amazed at how quickly things had turned around from the last time they had been in S.H.I.E.L.D. It felt a little more homely now, and Natasha’s smile was more than enough for him to be happy with the decisions that had led them here.</p><p>They found Coulson in his office later, bringing with them jelly and ice cream that they dumped unceremoniously on his desk. Natasha draped herself over his couch and Clint took a seat in the armchair, digging into his jelly so quickly he immediately spilt some on his shirt.</p><p>“By all means, come in,” Coulson said drily. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”</p><p>“First mission celebration,” Clint said around his mouthful. “She did good.”</p><p>“She was incredible,” Coulson said, smiling softly at Natasha. “Got her whole team out of a very sticky situation and finished the mission by herself. Not many new recruits can do that.”</p><p>“I am not normal,” Natasha said proudly. “I am Black Widow.”</p><p>“That you are,” Coulson agreed. “They’re designing suits for the both of you as we speak.”</p><p>“Suits?” Clint asked. “Don’t we wear what everyone else wears?”</p><p>“I have a feeling that the two of you will do more than your average Strike Team,” Coulson told him, then reached into the drawer under his desk. “Speaking of—”</p><p>He slid a slim folder over the desk to Clint. He put the jelly down to flick it open, frowning at the one piece of paper it held. There was a name printed in thick black marker across the middle of the page, and he held it up for Natasha to read while they waited for Coulson to elaborate.</p><p>“Strike Team Delta?” Natasha said. “What is mean?”</p><p>“It’s my new team,” Coulson said. “Drafted tonight, but it should be official by morning. It’s your team. <em>Our </em>team.”</p><p>“We get to work together?” Clint asked excitedly. “Like, me, you and Tasha?”</p><p>“Yes. I’m your handler, officially. And granted your first mission together goes well, then this will be a permanent thing. Welcome, Team Delta. I hope we have many years of success before us.”</p><p>“To Delta,” Clint said, holding up his jelly cup. Coulson lifted his mug and Natasha her water bottle, and they all met in the middle to clink their objects against each other. “And the best day we’ve had in a long time.”</p><p>He knew that they still had a long way to go. He glanced over at Natasha, raising an eyebrow, and she tilted her head just slightly to the right. <em>Yes</em>, her eyes said, and her fingers signing against her leg told him, <em>say it</em>.</p><p>“One more thing actually, sir,” Clint said carefully.</p><p>Coulson grinned. “Yes? How can I help?”</p><p>Clint took a deep breath and looked Natasha in the eyes, and she was ready, he could tell, to let go of this piece of herself for Coulson. They could trust him. They were a team. That was stronger than anything.</p><p>“Have you ever heard the name Yelena Belova?”</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey ya'll another lil update to start building towards chapter 20 (she's gonna be a big one lmao) there's not a lot of important stuff in this chapter but i had to sprinkle in some more maria and dw, chase will feature more in future chapters (plus some old friends wow this is more brackets than i usually use) </p><p>also i realise this is like the third chapter i've ended with them saying i love you but i don't care bc they're cute and they deserve it okay</p><p>i hope you like this!! leave a comment and thank you so much for reading i love u ❤️❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maria yanked Natasha into a choke-hold, using her height to her advantage to keep Natasha grasping to stand on her tiptoes. Clint watched quietly, sipping at the water that Chase had brought to the gym for his own physiotherapy session. The impromptu sparring session had been Maria’s idea, and since everybody else in S.H.I.E.L.D was avoiding them, Clint had readily taken her up on her offer.</p><p>She’d kicked his ass only minutes before; Clint considered himself to be above average in hand-to-hand combat, but Maria was on another planet entirely and so far Natasha had been the only person he’d seen that could hold her own against her. Whoever had trained Maria had been strong and concise, and it showed in the way she fought. The people who had trained Natasha, however, had been cruel and bloody, and even when sparring every punch was a desperate bid for survival.</p><p>Natasha managed to drive her elbow sharply into Maria’s side, slipping out of her grip when it loosened to slide between her legs and come out behind her. She had Maria on her back in another second, and for a moment it looked like she had the victory. Then, in a move that Clint missed for blinking, Maria had Natasha pinned beneath her, both hands forcing her wrists above her head and onto the mat.</p><p>“Damn,” Clint muttered, frowning as Natasha continued to struggle beneath Maria’s weight. He didn’t see a way out of the hold that didn’t require severe bodily harm, and Coulson had warned her against leaving physical marks. “Just yield, Tash.”</p><p>“Yield, Romanoff,” Maria said, clearly having the same thought that Clint had. “You’ve got to know when to give up.”</p><p>“Lilac,” Natasha suddenly blurted, body freezing, and Maria immediately let go of her wrists to roll off the top of her. “Lilac. <em>Ne bey menya</em>.”</p><p>“No more sparring,” Clint said, crossing over to where they lay panting. “You okay?”</p><p>Maria sat up and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “What did I do wrong?”</p><p>Natasha pushed her hands into her eyes and shook her head. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then sat up too, pulling her knees to her chest and keeping her gaze averted. Clint offered her the rest of his water, wary of pushing her too far. It was the first time she had used the safe word and he could see that the weight of admitting her weakness was already taking a toll.</p><p>“Tasha?” Clint asked when she didn’t immediately respond. “<em>Kak vy dumayete kto vas udarit?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Nikto</em>,” she said, finally looking up at them. “I… Is wrists. But is fine.”</p><p>“You got issues with restraints?” Maria asked. Clint glared at her and she shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “We have to know these things now Barton. It’s not just the two of you anymore.”</p><p>Natasha pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, then nodded carefully. “<em>Da</em>. I have memory of—Is maybe not real. Is fine, Hill. I have little problem but I will fix.”</p><p>“Don’t stress, Romanoff,” Maria said. She stood and offered a hand to Natasha, pulling her up. “I get it. I won’t pin your arms anymore.”</p><p>“<em>Spasibo</em>,” Natasha said, and Clint saw her shoulders drop slightly in relief. He followed them over to the bench they had left their gym bags on and took the empty bottle back from her so she could pull her sweaty shirt over her head. “Now we are even.”</p><p>“Not that it’s a competition, but—” Maria gasped, and Clint followed her line of sight to see that she was staring at the skin of Natasha’s back that wasn’t covered by her sports bra. “Fuck.”</p><p>Clint moved between them, offering Natasha a minute of privacy to put on a new shirt before the whole gym noticed the scars that crossed over her shoulders. He had seen them and all of Natasha’s other scars enough times that he barely noticed them now; they were as much a part of her as the red of her hair or the freckles that were scattered across her collarbone, and even though he knew the story behind them all he never dwelled on it.</p><p>He supposed that it would look horrific to someone like Maria, who had dedicated her life to stop the very type of person who would carve up a little girl’s back. Ever since they had joined S.H.I.E.L.D the rumours surrounding what actually happened at the Red Room had been spreading like wildfire, though many of them were far from the truth. No one knew that Natasha had spent half her time split between the program and Ivan’s cruelty, and Clint wanted to keep it that way.</p><p>“Sorry,” Maria said quietly, averting her gaze. “I didn’t…”</p><p>“Is fine,” Natasha said. “I tell if you want. You just ask. I don’t mind.”</p><p>Maria frowned. “You don’t have to explain anything that you don’t want to.”</p><p>“I am bad girl,” Natasha said, collecting her things and letting Clint shoulder the duffel bag they were sharing. “Bad girl is punished. Dom say they have cream to fade them.”</p><p>Maria reached out and rested her hand on Natasha’s arm, looking equal parts awkward and pitying. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You not have knife. You not cut me.”</p><p>“Yea, I know,” Maria said. “I’m still sorry.”</p><p>Natasha’s eyes flicked to her face and then away again, a subtle acknowledgement of the apology she didn’t know how to receive. They left Maria in the gym and headed back towards Natasha’s room in silence, ignoring the glares that were directed their way. Clint stopped with her at her door, hand brushing over her shoulder blade as he passed her the bag.</p><p>She smiled at him, soft and sure.  He wanted to sweep her off her feet but settled for grinning back, knowing it wouldn’t be long until he could see her again.</p><hr/><p>“What’s he saying?”</p><p>Natasha elbowed him, then pushed her ear closer to the door. Clint peeked around her, trying to see into Coulson’s office in case he would be able to read his lips. They were due for their first Strike Team Delta debrief but Coulson had promptly kicked them out to take an important call, and now they were eavesdropping like children, trying to find out what was causing their handler so much distress.</p><p>“Suicide mission,” Natasha whispered, confusion bleeding into her tone. She pulled back to sign it, too, as though she couldn’t quite wrap her head around how the words worked together. <em>Suicide mission. He just said it was suicide</em>.</p><p>“Our mission?” Clint asked her.</p><p>She shook her head. “<em>Nyet</em>. I think someone die.”</p><p>“Huh,” Clint said, frowning. “Wonder what it’s about. What kinda mission is that bad?”</p><p>“I don’t—” Natasha started to say, before jerking them both away from the door a second before Coulson pulled it open. “Hello, sir.”</p><p>“You call me Phil, I call you Natasha,” Coulson told her, letting them step in past him. “You can call me sir when I’m old.”</p><p>They took seats on Coulson’s couch, sitting close enough that their thighs were pressed together and Clint could wrap his arm around Natasha’s waist. Coulson sat at his desk and briefly rubbed his temples, looking defeated for the first time that Clint could remember. An uneasy feeling spread through his body and he focused on Natasha beside him, distracting himself before it spiraled into anxiety.</p><p>“We are ready for mission,” Natasha said eagerly.</p><p>Coulson looked up, as though he was only just remembering they were there. “Yes. The mission.”</p><p>He handed them two folders and Clint flicked through it briefly, trusting that Natasha would read the whole thing and relay it to him while they were getting ready. It was simple, only assigned to them so that Fury could see them in action together and determine whether he had made the right decision or not, but Clint was going to give it his all to ensure that they wouldn’t be separated.</p><p>“Is honey pot?” Natasha snapped, fingers clenching around the folder. “I not think S.H.I.E.L.D is like Red Room.”</p><p>“It’s not, Natasha,” Coulson said, clearly frustrated. “Read the file.”</p><p>Natasha’s eyes widened and she looked down, shoulders hunching. Clint didn’t think that Coulson had meant to be so abrupt but his tone of voice even had Clint feeling like he’d done the wrong thing; despite Georgia’s help and Natasha’s stubborn insistence to switch off when things got hard, he could tell that the inflection had affected her.</p><p>“<em>Izvinite</em>,” she muttered. “I do what is ask of me.”</p><p>“No, I—” Coulson started, then blew out a breath of air. “I’m sorry, Natasha. Please forgive me. The mission simply requires you to do some groundwork with the mark, with Clint covering you from outside. Once you retrieve the data he can make the shot. You’re not required to do anything other than make the mark talk.”</p><p>“Okay,” she said slowly. “I understand.”</p><p>“Do you forgive me?” Coulson asked, smile thin. He looked tired. “I wouldn’t want to be on your bad side again.”</p><p>Natasha’s lips twitched. “I forgive. Is okay, Phil.”</p><p>“<em>Is</em> everything alright, Coulson?” Clint said. “You seem kinda distracted.”</p><p>“I’m fine, Clint,” Coulson replied easily. “S.H.I.E.L.D isn’t perfect. We often stumble into tough situations, but what matters is how we work through them. Nothing for you to worry about.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clint conceded, not entirely convinced. His gut still told him that something wasn’t right but he didn’t dwell on it. “Should we talk about this now?”</p><p>“Of course,” Coulson said, picking up his own copy of the debrief. “Wheels up tomorrow at noon. Natasha has two days to retrieve the flash drive and you are <em>not </em>to engage before then.”</p><p>“Will be fun,” Natasha said, eyes bright, and Clint let the last of his worries dissipate in the wake of her excitement. He had her. How bad could things really be?</p><hr/><p>The hotel Coulson had booked them was nice, and far enough away from the bar that they would be safe to come back once the hit was completed. Their extraction plan was only there for an emergency and Clint felt confident as he finished zipping the vest of his new suit. From behind him Natasha pouted, and he rolled his eyes at her reflection in the mirror.</p><p>“You’re gonna have plenty of time to wear your suit,” he told her. “Trust me. Not every mission is gonna be like this. We just have to prove ourselves.”</p><p>“What I am proving if I am just there to be pretty?” Natasha sulked, folding her arms across her chest. “I am good shot, too.”</p><p>“Yea, I know,” Clint said. He held his arms out to her and she dragged her feet all the way over, putting on a very convincing show of being more upset than she actually was. “But you’re the better spy. I don’t have that kind of training. They need you to do some <em>real </em>work.”</p><p>She swatted half-heartedly at his chest. “Whatever. How I look?”</p><p>“Beautiful,” he said without hesitating. “You’re always beautiful. And you have like, five weapons hidden under that dress. It’s <em>hot</em>.”</p><p>“You like to know where they are hidden?” Natasha murmured, leaning up to brush her lips against his. They still had a little time before Coulson expected them to log onto their comms, and Clint was thankful for the reprieve from the scrutiny they faced at S.H.I.E.L.D. “Maybe I show you.”</p><p>“Oh yea?” Clint breathed. He pulled her closer to him, kissing her properly; hard enough to make his head spin and his toes curl. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek and felt the breathy moan that tumbled from between her lips. “Show me now.”</p><p>Natasha pulled away slowly, letting him chase her for a few extra kisses before she planted her hands firmly on his chest. “We need to go.”</p><p>“Right,” Clint muttered, letting his forehead knock against hers. He looked at her smudged lipstick and sighed. “Shit. Wait here.”</p><p>He found the lipstick in the bathroom and brought it back out with him, gently tilting Natasha’s face so he could carefully reapply what he had helped ruin. She watched him, her face soft as she parted her lips for him, and his hand was steady and sure as he traced the pink flesh. He used his thumb to gently wipe where it had strayed to her skin, then kissed the very tip of her nose.</p><p>“<em>Spasibo</em>,” she murmured. “I love you.”</p><p>“For real, right?” Clint said, and at her nod he laughed. “Good. I love you for real too. Now let’s go and kick some ass.”</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>omg hi i am back wow it's been a crazy week like don't even get me started but anyway!! i'm back, feeling better and ready to keep going with my fics!! this is pure selfish fluff okay i love them they deserve it we deserve it shit only gets worse from here am i right</p><p>thank u so much for reading this fic and being patient in waiting for the update!! i love u all so much ✨</p><p>leave a comment if u like and follow me on twitter for more fic shenanigans and general clintasha breakdowns @queenromxnov ❤️</p><p>(ps. cress. go to sleep bestie)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>December</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>By the time they reached the café, soft snowflakes were beginning to stick to Natasha’s hair. Clint held the door open for her, letting her slide out of the icy Washington air and into the relative warmth of the small building that Chase had picked for them all to have coffee at. S.H.I.E.L.D was only a block away and Clint wasn’t naïve enough to think that it hadn’t affected the choice of location, but it was nice to be off base for the first time in months.</p><p>Natasha tugged her scarf from around her neck, eyes scanning the room until she found Chase at a table towards the back. For a second she hesitated, and Clint felt apprehension wash over himself at the sight of Chase and Quinn waiting for them. It had taken weeks to convince Natasha that it was a good idea to re-introduce themselves to Chase’s girlfriend, and now he was second-guessing half of his arguments.</p><p>“All good?” He asked, letting his hand fall to the small of her back.</p><p>She squared her shoulders and nodded. “Is fine.”</p><p>Quinn didn’t smile as they approached, though Chase looked delighted to see them. He pulled Natasha down for a one-armed hug and shook Clint’s hand, then let them slide into the seats opposite his wheelchair before he barraged them with questions.</p><p>“Bet it’s nice to be out on your own, huh? What do you think? It’s cosy. Does this mean you can leave whenever you want now?”</p><p>Clint let out a breath. “Maybe you want to…”</p><p>“Right!” Chase said, shaking his head before taking Quinn’s hand. “I’m sorry, babe. Quinn, I’d like you to meet Clint and Natasha. The <em>real</em> Clint and Natasha.”</p><p>“Clint and Natasha,” Quinn repeated, her British accent as strong as ever. “You kidnapped my boyfriend.”</p><p>“To be fair, she was drugged,” Chase said easily. “At the time she didn’t really know what she was doing.”</p><p>“The three of you lied to me,” Quinn said. “And then Chase almost died, and I’m supposed to believe that you’re all working for a security firm. <em>After</em> the fact that he told me you’re both assassins.”</p><p>“Spy,” Natasha said, surprising him. “We are spy.”</p><p>Quinn blinked at her. “You’re not even American.”</p><p>“Russian,” Natasha replied. “It make difference?”</p><p>The two women stared at each other, neither one willing to break eye contact first. For the first time since they had arrived Chase looked nervous, and Clint subtly reached under the table to uncurl Natasha’s fingers from where she had pressed them into fists. He racked his brain for something to say that would ease the tension that had settled over the table.</p><p>“No,” Quinn said eventually. “The honesty is welcome.”</p><p>“I am not in business of honesty,” Natasha said. “I am spy.”</p><p>“Believe it or not, that’s honesty.” Quinn shrugged, then folded her arms across her chest. “I haven’t forgiven you.”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Clint said carefully. “But we still wanted to apologise.”</p><p>“Clint and Nat are my friends, Quinn,” Chase said softly. “They didn’t leave me to die. They stayed with me in the hospital, they got me this <em>life</em>.”</p><p>“They kidnapped you,” Quinn deadpanned. “That’s how they got you this life.”</p><p>“And they could have <em>left me</em>,” Chase reiterated. “C’mon, babe. We’ve talked about this. I’m happy. I want you to know the truth.”</p><p>Clint rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Chase was the first person to ever trust us. It means something, even now.”</p><p>“I have no choice in life,” Natasha said, pulling her fingers away from Clint so that she could lay them flat on the table. “Chase is patient. He treat me like normal person. I am high when I take him.”</p><p>“Her body doesn’t react well to drugs.”</p><p>Quinn glanced between the two of them, exasperation clear in her eyes. Chase wrapped his arm around her waist and Clint waited, holding his breath, feeling like this was the most important meeting they may ever have in their life.</p><p>“I don’t trust you,” Quinn said firmly. “But I don’t hate you. And I can live with never knowing the truth about where you work as long as you… as long as you be honest about everything else.”</p><p>“I am spy,” Natasha said. “I not tell truth.”</p><p>After one long, tense moment, Quinn actually smiled. Natasha, eyes sparkling with a mischievousness that reminded him of gravel roads and red-hot days, smiled right back.</p><hr/><p>It was late when they stumbled back onto the base, cheeks pink and fingers frozen from the chill. They followed Chase to the elevator and rode up to the rec room in silence; Natasha looped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, basking in one of the rare moments they were alone. Clint rubbed his thumb over her hip, brushing against the hard edge of her security pass.</p><p>Strike Team Delta had been riding the high of success for months now. Fury was pleased with their mission statistics and the Council had left them alone for long enough that Clint could almost forget the threat was even there. For the most part the other agents had finally accepted them, albeit begrudgingly, and now they didn’t have to watch their backs in the cafeteria anymore.</p><p>“Thank you for today,” Chase said as the elevator came to a slow stop on his floor. “Quinn will come around.”</p><p>“She doesn’t have to,” Clint shrugged. “We understand. Just getting the chance to say sorry—”</p><p>“She’ll love you as much as I do,” Chase interrupted. “It’s hard not to. You’re like my weird family.”</p><p>“You are weird,” Natasha retorted. “I see you tomorrow for therapy.”</p><p>“You bet, Red,” Chase grinned, wheeling himself out of the elevator. “Your puny arms are no match for my guns of steel.”</p><p>Natasha rolled her eyes. “We see. I still kick your ass.”</p><p>“Can’t feel my ass!” Chase crowed, and then the doors slid shut on the sound of his laughter.</p><p>“I still kick ass,” Natasha mumbled. She tightened her grip on his arm and tilted her head up to him, pursing her lips. “I think go well.”</p><p>“With Quinn?” Clint asked. “She doesn’t hate us, so that’s a plus.”</p><p>“No one hate you,” Natasha told him. “You are like sun.”</p><p>Clint kissed the tip of her nose, still cold from their time outside. “<em>You’re </em>the sun. I’m just lucky enough to revolve around you.”</p><p>The elevator stopped before Natasha could reply, though the look in her eyes told him more than words ever would. They pulled apart in the hall as they made their way towards the rec room; Clint felt a familiar buzz of excitement overtake him as they became close enough for him to barely hear the chatter that came from within the room. Game night had, somewhat surprisingly, been Georgia’s best idea yet.</p><p>Maria was cracking open a beer when Natasha pushed the door open. She sat on a beanbag on the floor, board game between her and Sharon Carter, the only other agent who hadn’t needed to give them a chance before she trusted them. She waved at him and he waved back, falling into the armchair beside the sofa.</p><p>“Perfect timing,” Maria said, patting the spare bean bag next to her own until Natasha sat delicately in it. “Pick the game before I rip Carter a new one for cheating in Monopoly.”</p><p>“I did not cheat,” Sharon protested, pointing a finger accusatorily at Maria. “<em>You </em>don’t invest enough.”</p><p>Maria glared, though her lips were twitching against a smile. “All the good real estate was taken. Plus, the banker is corrupt.”</p><p>“Don’t drag me into this,” Georgia protested. She was spread across the sofa, feet resting in Dom’s lap and a blanket draped over her body. “I’m neutral ground. And I don’t <em>cheat</em>.”</p><p>“Drink, Barton?” Sharon asked, interrupting whatever Maria had been about to say by holding a beer out towards him. “I won’t tell.”</p><p>Coulson cleared his throat from the back of the room. “I’m not here.”</p><p>Natasha sat forward and swiped it out of Sharon’s grip before he could reply. “<em>Spasibo</em>.”</p><p>“God, Romanoff, I wasn’t forgetting you.”</p><p>“Nat’s taking initiative,” Maria commented. “Hey, I like it.”</p><p>“Good job, Natasha,” Georgia said softly, smiling down at her. “I can look past the illegality of the situation in favour of appreciating a little progress.”</p><p>“No shrink talk,” Dom groaned. “It’s game night. We leave our business at the door.”</p><p>Clint accepted his own beer from Sharon and took a sip as he waited to see what game Natasha would choose. They had been meeting every Friday for the last few months, trying to bring a sense of normalcy into their relatively stressful lives, and it had worked wonders for everyone involved. What had started between the two of them with Georgia and Dom had evolved into this: friends laughing and gossiping and eating pizza well into the night, assassinations and world crises be damned.</p><p>There had been hard, heavy months to get here, though, after Georgia had started a more intense method of therapy after the formation of Strike Team Delta. With the help of S.H.I.E.L.D tech they had broken more than half of Natasha’s programming, leaving her struggling in the early days to find her footing as she dealt with memories that had been buried deep in her mind. Playing Uno had been her distraction, and now here they were, two weeks away from Christmas and surrounded by friends who cared enough about the progress to make an effort.</p><p>“Chase couldn’t make it?” Maria asked as Sharon began to set up Taboo.</p><p>Clint shook his head. “He’s got therapy tomorrow. Decided to have an early night.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Dom said. “I heard it’s going to be a tough day.”</p><p>“He’s strong,” Coulson spoke up. “He’ll be okay.”</p><p>“Right,” Sharon said, rubbing her hands together. “Teams. Me and Hill, obviously. We’re reigning champions.”</p><p>Clint had some more beer, tuning them out as they explained how to play to Natasha. She was sitting against his legs, her hand wrapped loosely around his calf as she listened to Sharon, fingers subconsciously tracing a pattern that felt a lot like Cyrillic letters. He dropped his hand to gently massage her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as the last of the tension left her shoulders.</p><p>“You can’t let him see the cards,” Maria said sternly. “Move over. You can cuddle him later.”</p><p>He caught the tail end of Natasha’s eye roll as she shuffled forward, swapping bean bags with Maria. He smiled at her as she picked her first card and set his drink down, feeling his usual competitiveness overtake him as he waited for her signal to start the timer. She read the card, and once they were sure she understood how to play, Sharon started the timer.</p><p>“Is hard work,” she said.</p><p>“Feelings,” Clint replied, grinning triumphantly as she picked up a new card.</p><p>“Lucky guess,” Maria muttered.</p><p>“Favourite tree.”</p><p>“Vienna.”</p><p>Natasha’s lips quirked. “Spar.”</p><p>“Sweat.”</p><p>“Man is missing this in Berlin.”</p><p>Clint paused. “Head?”</p><p>“<em>Nyet</em>,” Natasha said. “Other thing.”</p><p>“Oh. Fingernail.”</p><p>“What the fuck?” Sharon muttered, leaning across so that she could read the cards over Natasha’s shoulder. “How are you so quick?”</p><p>“Shhh,” Georgia hushed, and Clint tore his eyes away from Natasha’s face for long enough to see that both the therapist and Dom were eagerly watching the game. “Don’t interrupt.”</p><p>“Is yours but mine,” Natasha continued, ignoring them all and focusing entirely on Clint.</p><p>“Hoodie.”</p><p>She pulled out the next card and actually grinned. “Is between you and me.”</p><p>Clint frowned, trying to work out if she meant the space between them now, or any of the other things they shared between just the two of them; it could be love, it could be friendship, it could be an entire universe that was theirs and only theirs, the world that they had created for each other in the dusty Iowan air. They had built it from scratch, made the bones solid enough to withstand even the strongest of blows, and now they were opening the blinds to finally let the light in.</p><p>“Gravel road,” Clint said softly, because it quite literally had been between them, at one point, but more than that it was theirs; their memories, their joy and pain, and sadness, the place where they had met. Between them, a part of them forever. “Am I right?”</p><p>“No way!” Maria gasped, taking the card from Natasha so that she could double-check the validity of Sharon’s solemn nod. “No way. <em>That’s </em>cheating. There’s no way—”</p><p>“Lots you do not know,” Natasha said smugly. The timer hadn’t quite finished but she still stood up and sat herself heavily in his lap, arms winding around his neck and nose pressed against his cheek. “But some things is just for us.”</p><p>“Lame,” Maria muttered, dodging Sharon’s elbow as she re-shuffled the cards. “Whatever, it’s cute. She could still kill me in my sleep, so.”</p><p>“I like this game,” Georgia declared, flopping back against the pillows. “This would be great in—”</p><p>“No!” Maria and Sharon chorused together, and Clint stifled his laughter in Natasha’s hair.</p><p>She brought her hand up to cup his cheek, kissing him softly whilst everyone was distracted teasing Georgia about her inability to leave work at the door. He kissed her back until he felt his breath ache in his lungs, then traced the slope of her cheekbone with his finger, brushing her lips and eyebrows and the angle of her nose.</p><p>They didn’t have to worry about missions right now. They could just worry about each other and the people around them, the fun they were having and the laughter they shared. It was their own dysfunctional family, and Clint knew it wouldn’t last forever; for now, he could pretend that it would if it meant he could wrap his arms around Natasha’s waist and hold her for the rest of the night.</p><p>“Ready?” Sharon asked, raising an eyebrow in Maria’s general direction.</p><p>“Yea, yea,” Maria said distractedly, brushing her off. “Just one thing.”</p><p>Natasha frowned slightly. “<em>Da</em>?”</p><p>“How the hell did the man lose his head in Germany?”</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi everyone here is another quick filler that has a year time jump!! i needed to skip ahead a little so the other chapters can start to fall into place a bit more so idk this was born . i hope you enjoy (and it makes sense lmao)</p><p>ALSO HOW WAS THAT BLACK WIDOW SNIPPET IN THE NEW MARVEL TRAILER I WILL NOT SHUT UP ABOUT IT</p><p>if you like this chapter drop a comment !! i love u all dearly and thank u for the support 🥺❤️i hope you're healthy and happy in your bodies</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Brooklyn, 2010</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>February</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Clint watched through the glass window of the conference room as Natasha used a laser pointer to showcase the weaknesses in the rookie agents’ infiltration plan. The group of new recruits hung off every word she said, jotting down notes and raising their hands to ask questions as though they were back at school. Natasha was the youngest in the room, but the respect she commanded made her seem years older.</p><p>She glanced over and caught his gaze, lips twitching so subtly he wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking. The mission had been straightforward but time-consuming, so Coulson had sent him to keep an eye on the mark on his own. He’d spent the better part of the last week watching from a distance, tracking movement through the scope of his rifle. They hadn’t needed Natasha; she had been given desk duty until her biannual psych evaluation cleared her for fieldwork again, and from what he had heard from Coulson, she wasn’t enjoying her time off.</p><p>Clint swung into the room, leaning against the doorframe and waggling his eyebrows at her. “Hey.”</p><p>Twenty heads turned towards him, but Natasha kept her eyes on the projector screen. “Agent Barton, to what do we owe the pleasure?”</p><p>“Just saying hi,” Clint said casually. “Checking in. Thought you might have missed me.”</p><p>“Where were you?” One of the rookies blurted, eyes wide as she stared at him. “Did you really—”</p><p>“Classified,” Natasha interrupted smoothly. “But you knew that, Agent Liu.”</p><p>“Sorry,” the woman muttered, ducking her head again. Natasha rolled her eyes and then cut a glare towards the two men laughing in the corner, maintaining the intensity until they were squirming uncomfortably in their seats.</p><p>“You got much longer?” Clint asked, fighting the grin that threatened to burst across his face. “I heard there’s pudding in the cafeteria.”</p><p>“Half an hour,” Natasha replied. “You could join us, if you like. We were just discussing the pros and cons of relying on blueprints.”</p><p>Strike Team Delta had become something of legend over the last year; Clint wasn’t sure how or why, but the rumours held them to an almost God-like status and their ninety-nine per cent success rate only fuelled the fire. If a mission was deemed too difficult they were sent, often with far less manpower than the teams before them. Most times it was just the two of them, back to back, weapons drawn and nothing to save them except each other.</p><p>They were respected now. It had taken time for trust to build, especially amongst the half of S.H.I.E.L.D that had so desperately wanted them dead in the beginning. Natasha had undergone hypnotherapy to help with some of her more intense triggers, and it had worked better than anything else Georgia had tried. For the first time in her life she had control and she wasn’t taking it for granted; using her American accent in a professional setting had been the first real, autonomous decision she had ever made, and despite how much he disliked it, he was never going to take that from her.</p><p>She kept her Russian accent for him and the people they trusted, whispering sweet nothings in his ear in the mornings, stumbling over words and sharing with him the truest version of herself that she knew.</p><p>“Sure,” Clint said, pulling out the chair closest to him. Their relationship was still a secret within the halls of S.H.I.E.L.D, though he knew just from the murmur of noise that arose in the room as he sat that the rookies had heard the rumours. “Knock us out, Agent Romanoff.”</p><p>Natasha did smile, then, the kind of smile that everyone knew her for. It held more secrets than any of them could ever hope to know. Clint smiled, too, and let the sound of her new voice ground him.</p>
<hr/><p>The Brooklyn apartment was warm, lit by the setting sun through the lounge window. Neither of them had been there for over a week and there was already a thin layer of dust on the furniture, but it was their place away from the chaos of S.H.I.E.L.D and Clint would still go there above anywhere else, even if the roof was falling down around them.</p><p>Coulson had offered them their old place as a new, off-base residence a few months ago, and so they had made something of a home for themselves within the walls that were already so familiar. Mrs Timms had fresh cookies waiting for them whenever they came back, and they could breathe a little easier without the Council watching their every move. They were only there because Fury trusted them; they knew how lucky they were and weren’t about to push it.</p><p>“Salt?” Natasha asked, voice gravelly and thick around her Russian accent. She raised an eyebrow at the look on his face, folding her arms across her chest. “What?”</p><p>“Just that voice,” Clint said, crossing the short distance between them and lifting her off her feet before she could protest. “I missed it.”</p><p>“I know,” Natasha laughed, clutching his shoulders as he spun her around. “Is just for job, Clint.”</p><p>“I know,” he echoed, then set her down on the kitchen counter. “How was your day?”</p><p>“Is fine,” Natasha shrugged, arms draped loosely around his neck. “Boring. Georgia say is just waiting for okay. I pass all test.”</p><p>“Course you did,” Clint said. “We’ll be back in the field in no time, baby!”</p><p>Natasha smiled, her features so soft and open that it momentarily took Clint’s breath away. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear before leaning in to kiss her. Her lips parted on a sigh, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck, lazy and comfortable. This was home. This was the feeling he spent his whole life chasing, and it warmed him right down to his toes.</p><p>“We need salt,” Natasha told him without pulling away.</p><p>“Hmmm?” Clint hummed. “What?”</p><p>“Salt for pasta,” Natasha said. “Is none left.”</p><p>“No salt?” How’d that happen?”</p><p>Natasha giggled, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek. “Is long time since we be here.”</p><p>“Right,” Clint agreed. “I’ll go ask—”</p><p>“Okay,” Natasha breathed. She shoved his chest lightly, then swung her feet as she watched him try to smooth down his hair. “Hurry.”</p><p>Clint didn’t need to be told twice. He left the apartment and crossed the hall to Mrs Timms’ door, knocking on it three times like he always did. He tried to be patient, knowing that she was slow to get up now and struggled with the lock, but the thought of Natasha waiting for him after a week apart had him knocking again much sooner than he normally would.</p><p>The door swung open, revealing a woman with mousy brown hair. “Can I help you?”</p><p>“Um, is Mrs Timms home?” Clint frowned. He tried to see around the woman’s body but she was obstructing most of the view, and his hand reflexively reached for his hip and the weapon he didn’t have there. “We need to borrow some salt.”</p><p>“You must be Henry,” the woman said, eyes shining with unshed tears, and Clint felt his stomach plummet to his feet. “Mum told us a lot about you.”</p><p>Clint swallowed. “Told?”</p><p>“We knocked on your door last week but no one answered,” the woman explained. “Would you like to come in?”</p><p>“No,” Clint said. He reminded himself that he was supposed to be playing a part and glanced back at the door of his own apartment, feigning nervousness. “I shouldn’t leave Em—”</p><p>“She died,” the woman said, so suddenly that it seemed to surprise even her. “I’m Michelle. I’m her daughter. This isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”</p><p>“When?” Clint whispered.</p><p>“Last Sunday. She passed her in her sleep. It would have been very peaceful.”</p><p>Clint had left on Saturday, tucking a cookie wrapped in parchment paper into the pocket of his vest. Mrs Timms had stood in the doorframe and waved them off, thinking that they were going on another spontaneous trip, never knowing about the secret life they had been lying about for years. She’d given them both a kiss on the cheek, and Natasha had said, quietly on the stairwell, that she imagined a babushka’s love felt a lot like Mrs Timms’ hugs.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Clint said carefully. “She was an amazing woman. We were so lucky to have known her.”</p><p>Michelle reached out and squeezed Clint’s forearm, and he forced himself to relax. “Thank you, Henry. I know she adored the two of you. She didn’t often see her own grandchildren. Let me get you that salt.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Clint protested. “It’s okay. We can go to the store.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly,” Michelle said, already moving back into the apartment. “She wouldn’t have let you leave without it.”</p><p>Clint waited awkwardly at the door, feeling an odd kind of sadness wash over him. He had been upset when he had lost his mother, but there had been an odd sense of relief that followed in knowing that his father couldn’t hurt him anymore. This was different; this was an ache, the feeling of regret that they had never been fully honest with her, that she had loved and trusted them without ever knowing who they were.</p><p>“Here,” Michelle said, pressing Mrs Timms’ matching salt and pepper shaker into his hands. “I know mum would have given you these in a heartbeat.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Clint said sincerely. “If there’s anything we can do…”</p><p>“Come to the funeral,” Michelle said. “Tomorrow at noon, Green-Wood cemetery. She would want you there.”</p><p>“Okay,” Clint said, smiling softly. “We’ll be there. Again, I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Michelle said. “Bye Henry.”</p><p>The door closed and Clint was left standing there, staring at the wood and trying to come to terms with a world that didn’t have Mrs Timms in it. He moved on autopilot back to the apartment, shutting the door carefully behind himself before setting the salt and pepper shakers on the kitchen bench. Natasha turned to look at him but her smile froze on her face, colour draining so quickly he thought she might actually pass out.</p><p>“Clint?” She asked.</p><p>He didn’t quite know what to say, so he let the tears fall instead and clung to her like it would make the hurt he felt in his veins disappear as quickly and quietly as their friend had.</p>
<hr/><p>Requesting time off for a funeral hadn’t been something that Clint had anticipated having to do, and he was sure that Coulson had been just as surprised as he was to learn that their neighbour had died. Natasha’s physicals were cleared for the day and his debrief pushed back another 48 hours, so they made their way to Green-Wood Cemetery and stood on the outskirts of the crowd that had gathered to say goodbye.</p><p>The service was brief and exactly what he imagined Mrs Timms would have liked; no big fuss, just flowers and music and her tiny little dogs dressed in tiny little suits. Natasha held his hand tightly throughout it all, face stoic, dress freshly pressed. She couldn’t pretend to be Emily in that moment as much as he couldn’t pretend to be Henry.</p><p>The sun was bright and high in the sky when the mourners started to make the slow trek towards the church, where Michelle was offering tea and cookies. Clint and Natasha waited off to the side, not planning on following everyone else but not wanting to be seen leaving quite so soon. He wrapped her in his arms and let her clutch the back of his shirt tightly, shoulders shaking even though she wasn’t crying.</p><p>“Let’s go,” she mumbled, pulling away after a moment and squaring her shoulders. Her hand found his again and she offered him a weak smile. “Mrs Timm say no crying on spilt milk.”</p><p>“Holy shit, if it isn’t nana’s last miracle after all.”</p><p>Clint glanced up, confused to find Laura approaching them with Rachel a step behind her. “What the—"</p><p>“Nothing like a funeral to bring people together,” Laura joked, though her red-rimmed eyes told Clint all he needed to know. “It’s good to see you, Clint.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Lau,” he said, stepping forward to embrace her. “She was your grandmother?”</p><p>“Mum’s mum,” Laura confirmed. She sniffled and turned to Natasha, not giving her a chance to even think about refusing her hug. “Hey, Natalia.”</p><p>“Hi,” Natasha said, carefully patting Laura on the back. “We do not know.”</p><p>Rachel smiled at them softly. “Lau’s nana had a way of finding people who needed some extra love. Isn’t that right, Lau?”</p><p>“Yes,” Laura agreed, half laughing, half sobbing. “It makes me feel really good to know that she found you two. And that you’re still together.”</p><p>“We live across the hall from her,” Clint explained, wrapping his arm around Natasha’s waist. “Well, most of the time.”</p><p>“Let me guess,” Rachel began, eyes sparkling. “You can’t tell us.”</p><p>Natasha shrugged. “Is confidential.”</p><p>“Fine,” Rachel said, then reached out and tugged Natasha away from him. “I need to steal Natalia for a second, actually.”</p><p>The two girls moved out of earshot, leaving Clint and Laura to watch them converse in confusion. Whatever Rachel was telling her it seemed important, so he turned away to give them some kind of privacy. If he needed to know then Natasha would just tell him later.</p><p>“God knows what that’s about,” Laura said. “We’ve been wanting to get into contact with you for a while now. But you never make it easy.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Clint said. “This way of living… I don’t know, Lau. This is all we know.”</p><p>“There was an investigation, after you left,” she said carefully. “They were going to knock down Natalia’s house and they saw her bedroom.”</p><p>Clint swallowed, mouth going dry as he remembered the small number of times he had been in the room. The bed had been tiny, the blanket threadbare and stained; he had taken the handcuffs from the bed but had never thought to check the wardrobe or knock the boards off the window.</p><p>“Somebody could have helped, Clint,” Laura continued softly. “They found… They found needles in the wardrobe. Tools that people use to <em>torture</em> other people. She was a kid.”</p><p>“I know,” he whispered. “We couldn’t risk it. You have to understand I did everything I could.”</p><p>Laura reached out to take his shaking hand in her own. “I believe you. I just wish someone had noticed. I wish I had noticed.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Clint said, squeezing her fingers briefly before letting go. “Let’s not talk about that today. How long are you in town for?”</p><p>“A few days,” Laura answered. She cast her gaze back over to Rachel and Natasha, and they watched as Rachel jumped up and down in obvious joy. “<em>What</em> are they talking about?”</p><p>“No idea,” Clint said. “Let’s have dinner together, tomorrow night. We have a lot of catching up to do.”</p><p>“That we do,” Rachel said, dragging Natasha back over to them. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked like she might burst out of her skin; whatever she had told Natasha was obviously something she had been wanting to share for a long time. “We should head to the church though, Lau.”</p><p>“I was waiting for you,” Laura teased, then looked between him and Natasha seriously. “Don’t stand us up, okay? I don’t care what scary stuff you do in your free time. It will be <em>nothing </em>compared to how mad I’ll be.”</p><p>“Dinner, tomorrow,” Clint elaborated at the look on Natasha’s face. “We’ll be there.”</p><p>“Bye guys,” Rachel said, winking at Natasha as she looped her arm through Laura’s. “See you tomorrow!”</p><p>“Bye!” Natasha called, and Clint waited until they were gone before he gave Natasha a look. “What?”</p><p>“You know what,” he said, taking her hand. “Rachel. What’s the big secret?”</p><p>“Oh,” Natasha said, eyes sparkling. “No tell anyone, okay?”</p><p>“I’m a spy,” Clint said, disgruntled. “C’mon, have a little faith.”</p><p>Natasha laughed. “Okay. Rachel will ask Laura to marry her.”</p><p>Clint choked, shocked. Somewhere above them, he was sure Mrs Timms was laughing, too.</p><p> </p>
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